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rUE   ENGLISH  NOVEL    IN  I' HE    TIME    OF 
SHAKESPEARE. 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR. 


ENGLISH  WAYFARING  LIFE  IN  THE 
MIDDLE  AGES  (XlVth  CENTURY). 
Translated  from  the  French  by  Lucy  Toulmin 
Smith.  Third  Edition.  Illustrated.  Small  Demy 
8vo.     (T.  Fisher  Unwin). 


p  Wiltmann  Far: 


QUEEN    ELIZABETH 

from     (he   cm/ravui^g     In,      WlLLhWI     ROGERS 


THE 

ENGLISH    NOVEL 


IN    THE 


TIME  OF  SHAKESPEARE 


J.    J.    JUSSERAND 

COXSEILLER   d'AMBASSADE,    DR.    fes   LETTRES 
TRANSLATED    FROM    THE    FRENCH     BY 

ELIZABETH  LEE 


REVISED    AND    ENLARGED    BY    THE    AUTHOR 


ILLUSTRATED 


New  York  :  G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 
London  :  T.  FISHER  UNWIN 


\^' 


J^J^^ 


CONTENTS, 


PAGE 


TABLE    OF    CONTENTS      5 

EXPLANATORY    LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS        ...      ii 
INTRODUCTION        23 

CHAPTER    I. 
BEFORE    SHAKESPEARE ,.,     31 

I.  Remote  origin  of  the  novel — Old  historical  romances 
or  epics — Beowulf. 

The  French  conquest  of  England  in  the  eleventh 
century — The  mind  and  literature  of  the  new-comers 
— Their  romances,  their  short  tales     ...  ...  ...      33 

II.  Effects  of  the  conquest  on  the  minds  of  the 
English  inhabitants — Slow  awakening  of  the  native 
writers — Awakening  of  the  clerks,  of  the  translators 
and  imitators  —  The  English  inhabitants  connected 
through  a  literary  imposture  with  Troy  and  the  classical 
nations  of  antiquity — Consequences  of  this  imposture. 

Chaucer — His  lack  of  influence  on  later  prose  novelists 
— The  short  prose  tales  of  the  French  never  acclima- 
tized in  England  before  the  Renaissance — More's  Latin 
"Utopia" 37 

III.  Printing — Caxton's  role  — Part  allotted  to  fiction 
in  the  list  of  his  books — Morte  Darthur. 

Development  of  printing — Mediaeval  romances  set  in 
type  in  the  sixteenth  century   ...  ...  ...  ...      52 


CONTENTS. 
CHAPTER    II. 


PAGE 


TUDOR     TIMES  —  THE     FASHIONS     AND      THE 

NOVEL 69 

I.  The  Renaissance  and  the  awakening  of  a  wider 
curiosity — Travelling  in  Italy — Ascham's  censures      ...        69 

II.  Italian  invasion  of  England — Italian  books  trans- 
lated, Boccaccio,  Ariosto,  Tasso,  &c. 

English  collections  of  short  stories  imitated  from  the 
French  or  Italian — Separate  short  stories — Lucrece  of 
Sienna — A  "  travelling  literature"    ...  ...  ...        74 

III.  Learning — Erasmus'  judgment  and  prophecies — 
The  part  played  by  women — They  want  books  written 
for  themselves — Queen  Elizabeth,  her  talk,  her  tastes, 
her  dress,  her  portraits — The  "  paper  work  "  architec- 
ture of  the  time       ...  ...  ...  ...  ...        87 

CHAPTER    III. 
LYLT    AND    HIS    '' EUPHUES'' 103 

I.  "Euphues,"  a  book  for  women...  ...  ...      103 

II.  "  Euphuism,"  its  foreign  origin — How  embellished 
and  perfected  by  Lyly — Fanciful  natural  history  of  the 
time — The  mediaeval  bestiaries — Topsell's  scientific 
works         ...  ...  ...  ...  ...  ...      106 

III.  The  plot  of  the  novel — Moral  tendencies  of 
"  Euphues  " — Lyly's  precepts  concerning  men,  women 

and  children  ...  ...  ...  ...  ...      123 

IV.  Lyly's  popularity — Courtly  talk  of  the  time — 
Translations  and  abbreviations  of  ''  Euphues "  in  the 
seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries  ...  ...      135 

CHAPTER    IV. 

LYLTS    LEGATEES ...     145 

I.  Lyly's  influence — His  principal  heirs  and  suc- 
cessors, Riche,  Dickenson,  Melbancke,  Munday, 
Warner,  Greene,  Lodge,  &c.  ...  ...  ...      145 


CONTENTS.  7 

PAGE 

II.  Robert  Greene's  biography — His  autobiographical 
tales — His  life  and  repentance,  characteristic  of  the 
times  ...  ...  ...  ...  ...  ...      150 

III.  His  love  stories  and  romantic  tales — His  extra- 
ordinary success — His  tales  of  real  life — His  fame  at 
home  and  abroad     ...  ...  ...  ...  ...      167 

IV.  N.  Breton,  an  imitator  of  Greene  —  Thomas 
Lodge,  a   legatee  of  Lyly — His  life — His  "  Rosalynd  " 

and  other  works — His  relation  to  Shakespeare  ...      192 

CHAPTER   V. 

SIR    PHILIP    SIDNEY    AND     PASTORAL 

ROMANCE  ...     217 

Of  shepherds. 

I.  Sidney's  life — His  travels  and  friendship  with 
Languet — His   court  life  and    love — His   death — The 

end  of  "Stella"       ...  ...  ...  ...  ...      219 

II.  Sidney's  v^rorks — Miscellaneous  writings — The 
"  Apologie  " — Sidney's  appreciation  of  the  poetic  and 
romantic  novel. 

The  *'  Arcadia,"  why  written  —  Sidney's  various 
heroes  :  shepherds,  knights,  princesses,  &c. — Eclogues 
and  battles,  fetes,  masques  and  tournaments — Anglo- 
arcadian  architecture,  gardens,  dresses  and  furniture. 

Sidney's  object  according  to  Fulke  Greville,  and 
according  to  himself — His  lovers — Youthful  love,  un- 
lawful love,  foolish  love,  innocent  love  —  Pamela's 
prayer — The  final  imbroglio. 

Sidney's  style  as  a  novel  writer — His  wit  and  bright- 
ness— His  eloquence — His  bad  *  taste — His  fanciful 
ornaments  ... 

III.  Sidney's  reputation  in  England — Continuators, 
imitators,  and  admirers  among  dramatists,  poets  and 
novelists — Shakespeare,  Jonson,  Day,  Shirley,  Quarles 
— Lady  Mary  Wroth  and  her  novel — Sidney's  reputa- 
tion in  the  eighteenth  century,  Addison,  Young,  Walpole, 
Cowper — Chap-books. 


228 


8  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

In  France — He  is  twice  translated,  and  gives  rise  to 
a  literary  quarrel — Charles  Sorel's  judgment  in  the 
'*  Berger  extravagant,"  and  Du  Bartas'  praise — Mare- 
schal's  drama  out  of  the  "Arcadia" — Niceron  and 
Florian       ...  ...  ...  ...  ...  ...      260 

CHAPTER    VI. 

THOMAS  NASH;    THE  PICARESQUE  AND 

REALISTIC  NOFEL  287 

T.  Merry  books  as  a  preservative  of  health — Sidney's 
contempt  for  the  comic. 

Studies  in  real  life — The  picaresque  tale  ;  its  Spanish 
origin — Its  success  in  Europe — Lazarillo  and  Guzman...      287 

II.  Thomas  Nash — His  birth,  education  and  life — 
His  writings,  his  temperament — His  equal  fondness 
for  mirth  and  for  lyrical  poetry — His  literary  theories 
on  art  and  style — His  vocabulary,  his  style. 

His  picaresque  novel,  ** Jack  Wilton" — Scenes  and 
characters  —  Observation  of  nature  —  Dramatic  and 
melodramatic  parts  —  Historical  personages  —  Nash's 
troubles  on  account  of  "  Jack  Wilton." 

His  other  works — Scenes  of  light  comedy  in  them — 
Portraits  of  the  upstart,  of  the  sectary,  &c.      ...  ...      295 

III.  Nash's  successors — H.  Chettle — Chettle's  com- 
bined imitation  of  Nash,  Greene  and  Sidney. 

Dekker — His  dramatic  and  poetical  faculty — His 
prose  works — His  literary  connection  with  Nash — His 
pictures  of  real  life — His  humour  and  gaiety  — 
Grobianism — A  gallant  at  the  play-house  in  the  time  of 
Shakespeare — Defoe  and  Swift  as  distant  heirs  ...      527 

CHAPTER    VII. 

AFTER   SHAKESPEARE     ...  347 

I.  Heroical  romances — Their  origin  mainly  French 
—  The  new  heroism  a  panache  on  the  stage,  in 
epics,  in  the  novel,  in  real  life — The  heroic  ideal — 
The  Hotel  de  Rambouillet  ...  ...  ...  ...      347 


CONTENTS. 

II.  Heroes  and  heroism  a  panache  migrate  to  England 
— Their  welcome  in  spite  of  the  Puritans — Trans- 
lations of  French  romances — Use  of  French  engravings 
— Imitation  and  appreciation  of  French  manners  — 
Orinda,  the  Duchess  of  Newcastle,  Dorothy  Osborne, 
Mrs.  Pepys 

III.  Original  English  novels  in  the  heroical  style — 
Roger  Boyle,  J.  Crowne — Heroism  on  the  stage 

IV.  Reaction  in  France — Sorel,  Scarron,  Furetiere, 
&c. — Reaction  in  England — "Adventures  of  Covent 
Garden,"  "  Zelinda,"  &c 

V.  Conclusion  —  The  end  of  the  period — Ingelo, 
Harrington,  Mrs.  Behn  ;    how  she  anticipates  Rousseau. 

Connection  between  the  master-novelists  of  the 
eighteenth  century  and  the  prentice-novelists  of  the 
sixteenth    ... 


9 

PAGE 


362 

397 


INDEX 


419 


ARIES. 


EXPLANATORY      LIST 
ILLUSTRATIONS. 


OF 


I. — Queen  Elizabeth  in  State  costume,  with  the 
royal  insignia,  a  heliogravure  by  Dujardin,  of 
Paris,  after  the  engraving  by  William  Rogers 
(born  in  London,  about  1545)  Frontispiece 

2  to  13. — The  signs  of  the  Zodiac,  after  Robert 
Greene's  '^Francesco's  Fortunes,"  1590. 
Towards  the  end  of  this  novel  a  palmer  is 
asked  by  his  host  to  leave  a  remembrance  of 
his  visit  in  his  entertainer's  house ;  the  palmer 
engraves  on  an  ivory  arch  verses  and  drawings 
illustrating  at  the  same  time,  and  in  the  same 
way  as  the  signs  of  the  Zodiac,  both  the 
course  of  the  year  and  the  course  of  human 
life      p.  (^  et  passim  [tail-pieces  to  all  the  chapters^ 

14. — An  Elizabethan  Shepherdess,  from  a  wood- 
block illustrating  a  ballad  (the  inscription 
added)  ...  ...  ...  ...  ...      23 

15. — Beginning  of  the  unique  MS.  of  "  Beowulf," 

preserved  in  the  British  Museum     ...  ...      31 


1 2  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

PAGE 

1 6. — Chaucer's  pilgrims  seated  round  the  table  of 
the  ''  Tabard  "  at  Southwark,  a  reproduction 
of  Caxton's  engraving  in  his  second  edition 
of  the  "Canterbury  Tales,"  1484  ..  ...     45 

17. — Robert  the  devil  on  horseback  {alias 
Romulus),  being  the  frontispiece  of  several 
romances  in  verse  published  by  Wynkyn  de 
Worde,  London,  15 10  (.^),  8vo.  The  his- 
tory of  Robert  is  illustrated  throughout       ...      57 

18. — The  knight  of  the  swan,  from  the  frontis- 
piece of  the  metrical  romance  :  "  The  Knight 
of  the  Swanne.  Here  beginneth  the  history 
of  ye  noble  Helyas  knyght  of  the  swanne, 
newly  translated  out  of  frensshe,"  London, 
Copland,  1550  (?),  4to  ...  ...  ...      61 

19. — *' Then  went  Guy  to  fayre  Phelis."  From 
the  metrical  romance  '*  Guy  of  Warwick," 
London,  1550  (.^),4to,  Sig.  Cc.  iij  ...  ...      d^ 

20. — Elizabethan  Architecture,  Burghley  House, 
Northamptonshire  ;  the  inner  yard  and  clock 
tower,  1585  ;  probably  built  by  John  Thorpe, 
perhaps  in  collaboration  with  John  of  Padua  ; 
the  seat  of  the  Marquis  of  Exeter     'To  face  f.  69 

21. — Drawing  by  Isaac  Oliver  (b.  1556)  after  an 
Italian  model,  from  the  original  preserved  in 
the  British  Museum  ;  illustrative  of  the  cul- 
tivation of  Italian  art  by  Englishmen  in 
Tudor  times...  ...  ...  ...  ...      69 

22. — Frontispiece   to   Harington's    translation    of 


ILLUSTRATIONS.  13 

PAGE 

Ariosto,  London,  1591,  fbl.  This  engraving 
and  the  numerous  copper-plates  adorning  this 
very  fine  book  are  usually  said  to  be  English. 
But  these  plates  were  in  fact  a  product  of 
Italian  art,  being  the  work  of  Girolamo 
Porro,  of  Padua ;  they  are  to  be  found, 
i»  the  Italian  edition  of  Ariosto  published  at 
Venice  in  1588,  and  in  various  other  editions. 
The  English  engraver,  Thomas  Coxon  (or 
Cockson),  whose  signature  is  to  be  seen  at 
the  bottom  of  the  frontispiece,  only  drew 
the  portrait  of  Harlngton  in  the  space  filled 
in  the  original  by  a  figure  of  Peace.  Coxon, 
according  to  the  "  Dictionary  of  National 
Biography  "  and  other  authorities,  is  supposed 
to  have  flourished  from  about  1609  to  1630 
or  1636.  The  date  on  this  plate  (ist  August, 
1 591),  shows  that  he  began  to  work  nearly 
twenty  years  earlier. 

It  must  be  added  that  this  portrait  of 
Harington  has  an  Italian  softness  and 
elegance,  and  differs  greatly  in  its  style  from 
the  other  portraits  signed  by  Coxon  (portrait 
of  Samuel  Daniel  on  the  title-page  of  his 
Works,  1609  ;  of  John  Taylor,  "  Workes," 
1630,  &c.).  It  is  possible  that  Harington's 
portrait  was  merely  drawn  by  Coxon,  and 
engraved  by  an  Italian  ...  ...  ...     77 

23. — How  the  knight  Eurialus  got  secretly  into 
his  lady-love's  chamber.  From  the  German 
version  of  the  history  of  the  Lady   Lucrece 


1 


14  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

PAGE 

of  Sienna,   1477,  fol.  (a  copy   in   the  British 
Museum)      ...  ...  ...  ....  ...      82 

24. — Queen  Cleopatra  as  represented  on  the  Eng- 
lish stage  in  the  eighteenth  century  :  Mrs. 
Hartley  in  ''  All  for  Love  "  ;  Page's  engrav- 
ing, dated  1776,  for  Bell's  "Theatre"        ...      97 

25. — Sketches  made  by  Inigo  Jones  in  Italy,  1614  ; 
from  his  sketch-book  reproduced  in  facsimile 
by  the  care  of  the  Duke  of  Devonshire, 
London,  1832  ...  ...  ...  ...    100 

26. — Persians  standing  as  caryatides,  from  a  draw- 
ing by  Inigo  Jones  for  the  circular  court 
projected  at  Whitehall,  and  reproduced  by 
W.  Kent  :  "  The  Drawings  of  Inigo  Jones," 
London,  1835,  ^  vols.,  fol.  ...  ...  ...    loi 

27. — Queen  Elizabeth  in  a  fancy  dress,  from  the 
portrait  at  Hampton  Court,  attributed  to 
Zucchero  (b.  about  1543,  a  pupil  of  Barocci), 
reproduced  in  heliogravure  by  Dujardin  of 
Paris  ...  ...  ...  'To  face -p.  103 

28. — A  dragon  according  to  Topsell,  "  The  historic 

of  Serpents,"  London,  1608,  fol.,  p.  153     ...    103 

29. — The  "  Egyptian  or  land  crocodile,"  according 
to  Topsell's  "  Historic  of  Serpents,"  London, 
1608,  fol.,  p.  140     ...  ...  ...  ...    109 

30. — A  Hippopotamus  taking  its  food,  according 


ILL  USTRA  TIONS.  1 5 

PAGE 

to    Topsell's     "  Historie     of    foure     footed 
beastes,"  London,  1607,  fol.,  p.  328  ...    113 

31. — "  The  true  picture  of  the  Lamia,"  from  Top- 

seirs  "  Foure  footed  beastes,"  1607,  p.  453...    117 

32. — "The    boas,"    from    Topsell's    "Serpents," 

1608,  frontispiece     ...  ...  ...  ...121 

33. — The  great  Sea-serpent,  from  Topsell's  "Ser- 
pents,'* 1608,  p.  236  ...    125 

34. — Knightly  pastimes  ;  Hawking  ;  illustrative 
of  Gerismond's  life  in  the  forest  of  Arden  as 
described  in  Lodge's  "  Rosalynd "  ;  from 
Turberville's  "  Booke  of  Faulconerie,"  Lon- 
don, 1575,  4to,  frontispiece...  ...  ...    144 

i^t^. — Another  dragon  from  Topsell's  "  Serpents,'' 

1608,  p.  153  145 

i^d, — Yet  another  dragon,  from  TopselFs  "  Ser- 
pents," p.  153  171 

37. — Velvet  breeches  and  cloth  breeches  from 
Greene's  "  Quip  for  an  upstart  courtier," 
1592,  frontispiece     ...  ...  ...  ...    190 

38. — Preparing  for  the  Hunt,  from  Turberville's 
"  Noble  Arte  of  Venerie  or  Hunting," 
London,    1575,    4to,  frontispiece    ...  ...    205 

39. — Sir  Philip  Sidney,  a  heliogravure  by  Dujar- 
din,  of  Paris,  after  the  miniature  by  Isaac 
Oliver,  at  Windsor  Castle     ...  'To  face  f.  217 


i6  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

VKQ.'S. 

40. — Penshurst,  Sidney's  birthplace,  from  a  draw- 
ing by  M.  G.  du  Thuit. 

"  Thou  art  not,  Penshurst,  built  to  envious  show 
Of  touch  or  marble  .  .  . 

Thou  hast  thy  walks  for  health  as  well  as  sport  .  .  . 
That  taller  tree  which  of  a  nut  was  set 
At  his  great  birth,  where  all  the  Muses  met." 

(Ben  Jonson,  "  The  Forest ")  217 

41. — Mary  Sidney,  Countess  of  Pembroke,  for 
whom  the  "  Arcadia  "  was  written  ;  a  heho- 
gravure  by  Dujardin,  from  the  portrait  at 
Penshurst,    attributed    to    Marc    Gheeraedts 

To  face  p.  235 

42. — A  shepherd  of  Arcady,  as  seen  on  the 
title-page  of  various  editions  of  Sidney's 
'' Arcadia,'' ^.^.,  the  third,  1598       242 

43. — A  Princess  of  Arcady, /^/^.     ...   243 

44. — Argalus  and  Parthenia  reading  a  book  in 
their  garden  ;  from  Quarles'  poem  of 
"Argalus  and  Parthenia,"  London,  1656, 
4to,  p.  135 265 

45. — "  The  renowned  Argalus  and  Parthenia": 

"  See  the  fond  youth  !   he  burns,  he  loves,  he  dies ; 
He  wishes  as  he  pines  and  feeds  his  famish'd  eyes." 

From  "  The  unfortunate  Lovers,  the  History 
of  Argalus  and  Parthenia,  in  four  books," 
London,  i2mo,  a  chap-book  of  the 
eighteenth  century.     Frontispiece   ...  ...   273 


ILLUSTRATIONS.  17 

PAGE 

46. — "  How  the  two  princesses,  Pamela  and  her 
sister  Philoclea,  went  to  bath  themselves  in 
the  river  Ladon,  accompanied  with  Zelmane 
and  Niso  :  And  how  Zelmane  combated 
with  Amphialus  for  the  paper  and  glove  of 
the  princess  Philoclea,  and  what  after 
hapned."  From  "  The  famous  history  of 
heroick  acts  .  .  .  being  an  abstract  of  Pem- 
broke's Arcadia,"  London,  1701,  i2rno, 
p.  3 1 .  Not  without  truth  does  the  publisher 
state  that  the  book  is  illustrated  with 
"  curious  cuts,  the  like  as  yet  not  extant "    ...    275 

47. — *'  How  the  two  illustrious  princesses,  Philo- 
clea and  Pamela,  being  Basilius's  only 
daughters,  were  married  to  the  two  in- 
vincible princes,  Pyrocles  of  Macedon  and 
Musidorus  of  Thessalia  :  and  of  the  glorious 
entertainments  that  graced  the  happy  nup- 
tials," from  the  same  chap-book,  p.  139       ...   277 

48. — An  interior  view  of  the  Swan  Theatre  in  the 
time  of  Shakespeare,  from  a  drawing  by  John 
de  Witt,  1596,  recently  discovered  in  the 
Utrecht  library  by  M.  K.  T.  Gaedertz,  of 
Berlin.  Reproduced  as  illustrative  of  Dek- 
ker's  "Horne-booke,"  1609  [infra^  ch.  vi.  §  3). 
Spectators  have  not  been  represented.  They 
must  be  supposed  to  fill  the  pit,  "  planities 
sive  arena,"  where  they  remained  standing  in 
the  open  air,  and  the  covered  galleries.  The 
more  important  people  were  seated  on  the 
stage.     Actors,  to  perform  their  parts,  came 


1 8  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

I'AGE 

out  of  the  two  doors  inscribed  "  mimorum 
aedes."  The  boxes  above  these  doors,  con- 
cerning which  some  doubts  have  been 
expressed,  seem  to  be  what  was  called  "  the 
Lords'  room."  "  Let  our  gallant,"  says 
Dekker,  "  advance  himself  up  to  the  throne 
of  the  stage.  I  meane  not  the  Lords  roome 
(which  is  now  but  stages  suburbs)  :  no,  those 
boxes,  by  the  iniquity  of  custome,  conspiracy 
of  waiting  women  and  gentlemen  ushers,  that 
there  sweat  together,  and  the  covefousness  of 
sharers  are  contemptibly  thrust  into  the  reare, 
and  much  new  satten  is  there  dambd  by  being 
smothrd  to  death  in  darknesse.  But  on  the 
very  rushes,  where  the  comedy  is  to  daunce, 
yea  and  under  the  state  of  Cambises  him- 
selfe  must  our  fethered  Estridge  be  planted 
valiantly,  because  impudently,  beating  downe 
the  mewes  and  hisses  of  opposed  rascality" 
("Works,"  ed.  Grosart,  vol.  ii.  p.  247)      ...   286 

49. — Elizabethan  gaieties.  The  actor  Kemp's 
dance  to  Norwich,  from  the  frontispiece  of 
**  Kemps  nine  daies  wonder  performed  in  a 
daunce  from  London  to  Norwich,  containing 
the  pleasure,  paines  and  kind  entertainment 
of  William  Kemp  betweene  London  and  that 
city  .  .  .  written  by  himselfe  to  satisfie  his 
friends,"  London,  1600,  reprinted  by  Dyce, 
Camden  Society,  1 840,  4to  .. .  ...  ...   287 

50. — Portrait  of  Nash,  from  "  Tom  Nash  his 
ghost  .  .   .  written    by    Thomas    Nash    his 


ILL  USTRA  TIONS.  1 9 


PAGE 


ghost "   (no  date).     A    copy  in    the    British 
Museum        ...  ...  ...  ...  ...   326 

51. — Portrait  of  Dekker,  from  "  Dekker  his 
dreame,"  a  poem  by  the  same,  London, 
1620,  frontispiece      ...  ...  ...  ...    333 

52. — Katherine  Philips,  the  matchless  Orinda,  a 
heliogravure  by  Dujardin,  after  the  mezzo- 
tint by  Beckett  ...  ...  To  face  f.  347 


SZ'- 


-Heroical  deeds  in  an  heroical  novel.  "  Pan- 
dion  slayes  Clausus,"  from  "  Pandion  and 
Amphigenia,"  by  J.  Crowne,  London,  1665, 
8vo 347 

54. — Sir  Guy  of  Warwick  addressing  a  skull,  in 
a  churchyard,  from  "  The  history  of  Guy, 
earl  of  Warwick,"  1750.^  (a  chap-book), 
P-i8  350 

55. — Burial  of  Sir  Guy    of  Warwick,   from    the 

same  chap-book        ...  ...  ...  ...   351 

^(i. — A  map  of  the  "  tendre "  country.  The 
original  map  was  inserted  by  Mdlle.  de 
Scudery  in  her  novel  of  "  Clelie,"  Paris, 
1654,  et  seq.^  10  vols.,  8vo,  vol.  i.  p.  399. 
It  was  a  map  drawn  by  Clelia  and  sent  by  her 
to  Herminius,  and  which  "  showed  how  to  go 
from  New  Friendship  to  Tender."  It  was 
reproduced  in  the  English  translations  of 
"  Clelie  "  ;  the  plate  we  give  is  taken  from 
the  edition  of  1678...  ...  ...  ...   359 


20  THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL, 

PAGE 

57. — Endymion  plunged  into  the  river  in  the 
presence  of  Diana,  after  an  engraving  by  C. 
de  Pas,  in  **  L'  Endimion  de  Gombauld," 
Paris,  1624,  8vo,  p.  223.  The  French 
plates  were  sent  to  England  and  used  for  the 
English  version  of  this  novel  :  "  Endimion, 
an  excellent  fancy  .  .  .  interpreted  by  Richard 
Hurst,"  London,  1639,  8vo  ...  ...   367 

58. — Frontispiece  to  Part  IV.  of  the  translation 
of  La  Calprenede's  "  Cleopatre,"  by  Robert 
Loveday :  "  Hymen's  prasludia  or  Loves 
master-piece,"  London,  1652,  et  seq,,  i2mo. 
This  frontispiece  was  drawn  according  to  the 
instructions  of  Loveday  himself,  "  Loveday *s 
Letters,"  Letter  Ixxxiii.        ...  ...  ...    371 

59. — A  fashionable  conversation,  from  the  frontis- 
piece of  *^  La  fausse  Clelie,"  by  P.  de 
Subligny,  Amsterdam,  1671,  i2mo.  An 
enlarged  plate  was  made  after  this  one,  to 
serve  as  frontispiece  to  the  English  version  of 
the  same  work  :  "  The  mock  Clelia,  being  a 
comical  history  of  French  gallantries  ...  in 
imitation  of  Don  Quixote,"  London,  1678, 
8vo 375 

60. — Conversations  and  telling  of  stories  at  the 
house  of  the  Duchess  of  Newcastle,  from  a 
drawing  by  Abr.  a  Diepenbeck,  engraved  for 
her  book :  "  Natures  pictures  drawn  by 
Fancies  pencil  to  the  life,"  London,  1656, 
fol 379 


ILL  USTRA  TIONS. 


21 

PAGB 


6i. — Moorish  heroes,  from  an  engraving  in 
Settle's  drama  :  "  The  Empress  of  Morocco," 
London,  1673,  4to 393 

62. — A  poet's  dream  realized,  from  the  English 
version  of  Sorel's  *'  Berger  Extravagant," 
"The  extravagant  Shepherd,"  London,  1653, 
fol.,  translated  by  John  Da  vies.  The  usual 
description  of  the  heroine  of  a  novel  has 
been  taken  to  the  letter  by  the  engraver,  who 
represents  Love  sitting  on  her  forehead,  and 
lilies  and  roses  on  her  cheeks.  Two  suns 
have  taken  the  place  of  her  eyes,  her  teeth 
are  actual  pearls,  &c.  ...  ...  ...   401 


My  heartiest  thanks  are  due  to  the  well- 
known  Elizabethan  scholar^  Mr.  A.  H. 
Bullen,  who^  putting  aside  for  a  while  much 
more  important  work^  has  shown  me  the  great 
kindness  of  reading  for  the  press  the  proofs  of 
this  volume.  J. 


AN    ELIZABETHAN   SHEPHERDESS. 


XTbe  lEriGlisb  TRovel  m  the 
XLime  of  Sbakespeare* 


INTRODUCTION. 

THE  London  publishers  annually  issue  statistics 
of  the  works  that  have  appeared  in  England 
during  the  year.  Sometimes  sermons  and 
books  on  theology  reach  the  highest  figures  ;  England 
is  still  the  England  of  the  Bible,  the  country  that  at 
the  time  of  the  Reformation  produced  three  hundred 
and  twenty-six  editions  of  the  Scriptures  in  less  than 
a  century,  and  whose  religious  literature  is  so  abundant 
that  to-day  twenty-eight  volumes  of  the  British 
Museum    catalogue    treat    of  the    single   word    Bible. 


24  THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL. 

When  theology  does  not  obtain  the  first  rank,  it  holds 
the  second.  The  only  writings  that  can  compete  with 
it,  in  the  country  of  Shakespeare,  of  Bacon  and  of 
Newton,  are  neither  dramas,  nor  books  of  philosophy 
nor  scientific  treatises  ;  they  are  novels.  Theology  had 
the  supremacy  in  1885  ;  novels  obtained  it  in  1887, 
1888,  and  1889.  Omitting  stories  written  for  children, 
nine  hundred  and  twenty- nine  novels  were  published  in 
England  in  1888,  and  one  thousand  and  forty  in  1889. 
Thus  the  conscientious  critic  who  wished  to  acquaint 
himself  with  all  of  them  would  have  to  read  more  than 
two  novels  and  a  half,  often  in  three  volumes,  every 
day  all  the  year  round,  without  stopping  even  on 
Sundays. 

This  passion  for  the  novel  which  does  not  exist 
in  the  same  degree  in  any  other  nation,  only  ac- 
quired its  full  strength  in  England  in  the  eighteenth 
century.  At  that  time  English  novels  produced  in 
Europe  the  effect  of  a  revelation  ;  they  were  praised 
extravagantly,  they  were  copied,  they  were  imitated, 
and  the  popularity  hitherto  enjoyed  by  the  "  Prin- 
cesse  de  Cleves,"  "  Marianne,"  and  "  Gil  Bias,"  was 
obscured  for  a  while.  ''  I  say  that  Anglicism  is  gain- 
ing on  us,"  wrote  d' Argenson  ;  "  afiier  '  Gulliver '  and 
*  Pamela,'  here  comes  '  Tom  Jones,'  and  they  are 
mad  for  him  ;  who  could  have  imagined  eighty  years 
ago  that  the  English  would  write  novels  and  better 
ones  than  ours  ?  This  nation  pushes  ahead  by  force  of 
uni-estricted  freedom."  ^ 

Modern   society  had  at   length   found  the  kind   of 

^  "Memoires  et  Journal  inedit  du  Marquis  d'Argenson,"  Paris, 
^^57j  5  vols.  ;  vol.  v.,  "  Remarqucs  en  lisant." 


INTRODUCTION.  25 

literature  which  could  be  most  suitably  employed  to 
depict  it.  Society  had  been  presented  on  the  English 
stage  by  the  authors  of  domestic  comedies ;  Steele  and 
Addison  had  painted  it  in  their  essays.  But  in  both 
forms  the  portrait  was  incomplete.  The  exigencies  of 
the  stage,  the  necessary  brevity  of  the  essay,  made  it 
impossible  to  give  adequate  expression  to  the  infinite 
complexity  of  the  subject.  The  novel  created  anew  by 
Defoe,  Fielding,  and  Richardson,  made  it  an  easy  thing 
to  introduce  into  the  arena  of  literature  those  men  and 
women  of  intelligence  and  feehng  who,  for  long  ages, 
had  been  pleased  to  see  other  people  the  chief  subjects 
of  books  and  inwardly  desired  that  authors  should  at 
last  deal  more  especially  with  themselves.  The  age  of 
chivalry  was  gone  ;  the  time  of  the  Arthurs  and  the 
Tristans  had  passed  away;  such  a  society  as  the  new 
one  could  not  so  well  be  sung  in  verse  ;  but  it  could 
extremely  well  be  described  in, prose. 

As  Fielding  remarked,  the  novel  takes  the  place 
of  the  old  epic.  We  think  of  the  Harlowes  when 
in  the  olden  time  we  should  have  dreamed  of  the 
Atridas.  While  man's  attachment  to  science  and 
demonstrated  truth  is  growing  year  by  year,  so, 
simultaneously,  the  art  of  the  historian  and  the  art 
of  the  novelist,  both  essentially  empirical,  become  more 
highly  valued  and  more  widely  cultivated.  As  for  the 
lengthy  tales  devoted  to  Tristan  and  to  "  I'Empereur 
magne,"  we  know  that  their  day  is  done,  and  we  think 
of  them  with  all  the  pensive  tenderness  we  cannot 
help  feeling  for  the  dead,  for  the  dim  past,  for  a  race 
without  posterity,  for  childhood's  cherished  and  fast- 
fading  dreams.     Thus  in  the  same  age  when  Clarissa 


26  THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL. 

Harlowe  and  Tom  Jones  came  to  their  kingdom,  the 
poets  Chatterton,  Percy,  Beattie,  and  others,  turned 
back  lovingly  to  the  Middle  Ages  ;  and  thus  too  the 
new  taste  for  history,  archaeology,  and  the  painting 
of  real  life,  all  put  together  and  combined,  ended  by 
producing  a  particular  school  of  novel,  the  romantic 
school,  at  whose  head  stands  Sir  Walter  Scott. 

Perhaps,  however,  something  besides  poetry  is  to 
be  sought  for  in  these  bygone  epochs.  Movements 
of  human  thought  have  seldom  that  suddenness  with 
which  they  are  sometimes  credited  ;  if  those  literary 
innovations,  apparently  so  spasmodic,  are  carefully  and 
closely  studied,  it  will  be  nearly  always  found  that  the 
way  had  been  imperceptibly  prepared  for  them  through 
the  ages.  We  are  in  the  habit  of  beginning  the 
history  of  the  English  novel  with  Defoe  or  Richardson  ; 
but  was  there  no  work  of  the  kind  in  England  before 
their  time.^  had  they  to  invent  it  all,  matter  and 
method }  It  is  not  enough  to  say  that  the  gift  of 
observation  and  analysis  was  inborn  in  the  race,  as 
shown  already,  long  before  the  eighteenth  century,  in 
the  work  of  the  dramatists,  moralists  and  philosophers. 
Had  not  the  same  gift  already  manifested  itself  in  the 
novel } 

The  truth  is  that  the  novel  shed  its  first  splendour 
during  the  age  of  Elizabeth  ;  but  the  glory  of 
Shakespeare  has  overshadowed  the  multitude  of  the 
lesser  authors  of  his  time,  a  multitude  which  included 
the  early  novelists.  While  they  lived,  however,  they 
played  no  insignificant  part  ;  now  they  are  so  entirely- 
forgotten  that  it  will  perhaps  be  heard  with  some 
surprise   that   they  were    prolific,  numerous,  and  very 


INTRODUCTION.  27 

popular.  So  great  was  the  demand  for  this  kind  of 
literature  that  some  succeeded  in  making  an  income 
out  of  their  novels.  Their  books  went  through  many 
editions  for  that  age,  many  more  than  the  majority  of 
Shakespeare's  plays.  They  were  translated  into  French 
at  a  time  when  even  the  name  of  the  great  dramatist 
was  entirely  unknown  to  the  French  people.  Lyly's 
*'  Euphues,"  for  example,  went  through  five  editions  in 
five  years  ;  in  the  same  period  *'  Hamlet "  passed 
through  only  three,  and  "  Romeo  and  Juliet  "  through 
two  editions.  Not  a  line  of  Shakespeare  was  put  into 
French  before  the  eighteenth  century,  while  prose 
fictions  by  Nash,  Greene,  and  Sidney  were  translated 
more  than  a  century  earlier. 

As  in  our  own  day,  some  of  these  novehsts  busied 
themselves  chiefly  with  the  analysis  of  passion  and 
refined  emotion  ;  others  chiefly  concerned  themselves 
with  minute  observation  of  real  life,  and  strove  to 
place  before  the  reader  the  outward  features  of  their 
characters  in  a  fashion  impressive  enough  to  enable  him 
to  realize  what  lay  below  the  surface.  Many  of  these 
pictures  of  manners  and  of  society  were  considered  by 
contemporaries  good  likenesses,  not  the  less  so  because 
embellished.  Thus,  having  served  as  models  to  the 
novelists,  the  men  and  women  of  the  day  in  their  turn 
took  as  example  the  copies  that  had  been  made  from 
them.  They  had  had  their  portraits  painted  and  then 
tried  hard  to  resemble  their  counterfeit  presentments. 
Lyly  and  Sidney  embellished,  according  to  the  taste  of 
the  age,  the  people  around  them,  whom  they  chose  as 
patterns  for  the  heroes  of  their  novels ;  and  as  soon  as 
their  books  were  spread  over  the  country,  fashionable 


28  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

ladies  distinguished  themselves  from  the  common  sort 
by  being  ''  Arcadian  "  or  "  Euphuizd."  ^ 

Thus  through  these  very  efforts,  a  literature,  chiefly 
intended  for  women,  was  arising  in  England,  and  this 
is  one  characteristic  more  that  links  these  authors  to 
our  modern  novelists.  So  that,  perhaps,  bonds,  closer 
than  we  imagine,  unite  those  old  writers  lost  in  a  far- 
off  past  with  the  novelists  whose  books  reprinted  a 
hundred  times  are  to  be  found  to-day  on  every  reading- 
table  and  in  everybody's  hands. 

We  make  no  pretence  of  covering  in  the  present 
volume  this  vast  and  little  trodden  field.  To  keep 
within  reasonable  bounds  we  shall  have  to  leave 
altogether,  or  barely  mention,  the  collections  of 
tales  translated  by  Paynter,  Whetstone  and  others 
from  the  Italian  or  French,  although  they  were 
well  known  to  Shakespeare,  and  provided  him  with 
several  of  his  plots.  In  spite  of  their  charm,  we 
shall  in  like  manner  pass  by  the  simple  popular 
prose  tales,  which  were  also  very  numerous,  the 
stories  of  Robin  Hood,  of  Tom-a-Lincoln,  of  Friar 
Bacon,  however  **  merry  and  pleasant,"  they  may  be, 
"  not  altogether  unprofitable,  nor  any  way  hurtfull, 
very  fitte  to  passe  away  the  tediousness  of  the  long 
winters    evenings."  ^     We  intend  to  deal  here  chiefly 

'  Dekker,  "The  Guls  Horne-booke,"  1609. 

2  "The  Gentle  Craft,"  1598.  "Early  English  Prose  Romances," 
ed.  W.  J.  Thorns,  London,  2nd  edition,  1858,  3  vols.,  8vo, 
contents  :  "  Robert  the  Devyll,"  "  Thomas  of  Reading,"  by  Thomas 
Deloney,  "Fryer  Bacon,"  "Frier  Rush,"  "George  a  Green,"  "Tom- 
a-Lincoln,"  by  Richard  Johnson,  "Doctor  Faustus,"  &c.  Nearly 
all  the  stories  in  this  collection  bear  the  date  of  Shakespeare's 
time. 


INTRO  D  UCTION. 


29 


with  those  writers  from  whom  our  modern  novelists 
are  legitimately  descended.  These  descendants,  im- 
proving upon  the  early  examples  of  their  art  left 
by  the  Elizabethan  novelists,  have  won  for  themselves 
a  lasting  place  in  literature,  and  their  works  are  among 
the  undisputed  pleasures  of  our  lives.  Our  gratitude 
may  rightly  be  extended  from  them  to  their  pro- 
genitors. We  must  be  permitted,  therefore,  to  go  far 
back  in  history,  nearly  as  far  as  the  Flood.  The 
journey  is  long,  but  we  shall  travel  rapidly.  It  was, 
moreover,  the  customary  method  of  many  novelists  of 
long  ago  to  begin  with  the  beginning  of  created  things. 
Let  their  example  serve  as  our  excuse  = 


/ 


CANCER. 


BEGINNING  OF  THE   UNIQUE   MS.    OF   "  BEOWULF." 


h 


CHAPTER    I. 


BEFORE    SHAKESPEARE. 


I. 


MINUTE  research  has  been  made,  in  every 
country,  into  the  origin  of  the  drama.  The 
origin  of  the  novel  has  rarely  tempted  the 
literary  archaeologist.  For  a  long  time  the  novel 
was  regarded  as  literature  of  a  lower  order  ;  down 
almost  to  our  time,  critics  scrupled  to  speak  of  it. 
When  M.  Villemain  in  his  course  of  lectures  on  the 
eighteenth  century  came  to  Richardson,  he  experienced 
some  embarrassment,  and  it  was  not  without  oratorical 
qualifications  and  certain  bashful  doubts  that  he  dared 
to  announce  lectures  on  "  Clarissa  Harlowe  '*  and  "  Sir 
Charles  Grandison."  He  sought  to  justify  himself  on 
the  ground  that  it  was  necessary  to  track  out  a  special 
influence  derived  from  England,  ''  the  influence  of 
imagination  united  to  moral  sentiment  in  eloquent 
prose."     But  this  neglect  can  be  explained  still  better. 


32  THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL. 

We  can  at  need  fix  the  exact  period  of  the  origin  of 
the  drama.  It  is  not  the  same  with  the  novel.  We 
may  go  as  far  back  as  we  please,  yet  we  find  the  thin 
ramifications  of  the  novel,  and  we  may  say  literally 
that  it  is  as  old  as  the  world  itself.  Like  man  himself, 
was  not  the  world  rocked  in  the  cradle  of  its  childhood 
to  the  accompaniment  of  stories  and  tales  '^.  Some 
were  boldly  marvellous ;  others  have  been  called  his- 
torical ;  but  very  often,  in  spite  of  the  dignity  of  the 
name,  the  '^  histories  "  were  nothing  but  collections  of 
traditions,  of  legends,  of  fictions  :  a  kind  of  novel.  This 
noble  antiquity  might  doubtless  have  been  invoked  as  a 
further  justification  by  M.  Villemain  and  have  confirmed 
the  reasons  drawn  from  the  "  moral  sentiment  and  elo- 
quence "  of  novels,  reasons  which  were  such  as  to 
rather  curtail  the  scope  of  his  lectures. 

In  England  as  much  and  even  more  than  with  any 
other  modern  nation,  novelists  can  pride  themselves- 
upon  a  long  line  of  ancestors.  They  can,  without 
abusing  the  license  permitted  to  genealogists,  go  back 
to  the  time  when  the  English  did  not  inhabit  England,, 
when  London,  like  Paris,  was  peopled  by  latinised 
Celts,  and  when  the  ancestors  of  the  puritans  sacrificed 
to  the  god  Thor.  The  novelists  indeed  can  show  that 
the  beginning  of  their  history  is  lost  in  the  abysm  of 
time.  They  can  recall  the  fact  that  the  Anglo-Saxons, 
when  they  came  to  dwell  in  the  island  of  Britain, 
brought  with  them  songs  and  legends,  whence  was 
evolved  the  strange  poem  of*'  Beowulf,"  ^  the  first  epic,. 

I  "Beowulf,   a  heroic   poem,"  ed.   T.  Arnold,  London,   1876, 
8vo.   The  unique  MS.  of  this  poem,  discovered  in  the  last  century,  is. 


BEFORE  SHAKESPEARE.  33 

the  most  ancient  history,  and  the  oldest  EngHsh  romance. 
In  it,  truth  is  mingled  with  fiction  ;  besides  the  wonders 
performed  by  the  hero,  a  destroyer  of  monsters,  we 
find  a  great  battle  mentioned  by  Gregory  of  Tours, 
where  the  Frenchmen,  that  were  to  be,  cut  to  pieces 
the  Englishmen  that  were  to  be  ;  the  first  act  of  that 
bloody  tragedy  continued  afterwards  at  Hastings,  Crecy, 
Agincourt,  Fontenoy,  and  Waterloo. 

The  battle  of  Hastings  which  made  England  subject  ^ 
to  men  from  France  resulted  in  a  complete  transfor- 
mation of  the  literature  of  the  Teutonic  inhabitants  of 
the  island.  Anglo-Saxon  literature  had  had  moments 
of  brilliance  at  the  time  of  Alfred,  and  afterwards  at 
that  of  Saint  Dunstan  ;  then  it  had  fallen  into  decay. 
By  careful  search,  accents  of  joy,  though  of  strange 
character,  may  be  discovered  in  the  texts  which  now 
represent  that  ancient  literature.  Taking  it  as  a  whole, 
however,  this  literature  was  sad  ;  a  cloud  of  melancholy 
enveloped  it,  like  those  penetrating  mists,  observed  by 
Pytheas  and  the  oldest  travellers,  which  rose  from  the 
marshes  of  the  island  and  concealed  the  outlines  of  its 
impenetrable  forests.  But  the  conquerors  who  came 
from  Normandy,  from  Brittany,  from  Anjou,  from  all 
the  provinces  of  France,  were  of  a  cheerful  tempera- 
ment ;  they  were  happy  :  everything  went  well  with 
them.  They  brought  with  them  the  gaiety,  the  wit, 
the  sunshine  of  the  south,  uniting  the  spirit  of  the 
Gascon  with  the  tenacity  of  the  Norman.  Noisy  and 
great  talkers,  when  once   they  became  masters  of  the 

preserved  at  the  British  Museum  ;  it  has  been  reproduced  in  fac- 
simile by  the  Early  English  Text  Society  (Ed.  J.  Zupitza,  1882, 
8vo).     We  give  in  fac-simile  the  first  few  lines  of  the  MS. 

3 


34  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

country,  they  straightway  put  an  end  to  the  already 
dying  literature  of  the  conqtiered  race  and  substituted 
their  own.  God  forbid  that  they  should  listen  to  the 
lamentations  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  manner  or  traveller  ! 
They  had  no  concern  with  their  miserable  diTges. 
*'  Long  live  Christ  who  loves  the  French  !  "  i  Even  in 
the  laws  and  religion  of  the  French  there  now  and  then 
appeared  marks  of  their  irrepressible  entrain.  Shall 
we  not,  then,  find  it  in  their  stories  ? 

The  new-comers  liked  tales  of  two  kinds.  '  First, 
they  delighted  in  stories  of  chivalry,  where  they  found- 
marvellous  exploits  differing  little  from  their  own. 
They  had  seen  the  son  of  Herleva,  a  tanner's  daughter 
of  Falaise,  win  a  kingdom  in  a  battle,  in  course  of  which 
the  cares  of  a  conqueror  had  not  prevented  him  from 
making  jokes.  When,  therefore,  they  wrote  a  romance, 
they  might  well  attribute  extraordinary  adventures  and 
rare  courage  to  Roland,  Arthur  and  Lancelot  :  in  face 
of  the  behaviour  of  the  bastard  of  Normandy,  it  would 
be  difficult  to  tax  the  exploits  attributed  to  those 
heroes  with  improbability.  The  numberless  epic 
romances  in  which  they  delighted  had  no  resem- 
blance with  the  "Beowulf"  of  old.  These  stories  were 
no  longer  filled  with  mere  deeds  of  valour,  but  also  with 
acts  of  courtesy  ;  they  were  full  of  love  and  tenderness. 
Even  in  the  more  Germanic  of  their  poems,  in  '*  Roland," 
the  hero  is  shaken  by  his  emotions,  and  is  to  be  seen 
shedding  tears.  Far  greater  is  the  part  allotted  to  the 
gentler  feelings  in  the  epics  of  a  subsequent  date,  in 
those  written  for  the  English  Queen  Eleanor,  by  Benoit 

^  "  Vivat  qui  Francos  diligit  Christus !  "  ("Prologue  of  the  Salic 
Law,"  Pardessus,  1843,  p.  345.) 


BEFORE  SHAKESPEARE. 


35 


de  Sainte  More  in  the  twelfth  century,  which  tell  for 
the  first  time  of  the  loves  of  Troilus  and  Cressida ;  in 
those  dedicated  to  Arthur  and  his  knights,  where  the 
favour  of  the  mortal  deities  of  whom  the  heroes  are 
enamoured,  is  responsible  for  more  feats  of  chivalry 
than  is  the  search  after  the  mysterious  Grail. 

They  can  take  Constantinople,  or  destroy  the  Roman 
armies  ;  they  can  fight  green  giants  and  strange  mon- 
sters, besiege  castles  of  steel,  put  traitors  to  death,  and 
escape  even  the  evil  practices  of  enchanters  ;  but  they 
cannot  conquer  their  passions.  All  the  enemies  they 
have  in  common  with  Beowulf,  be  they  men  or  armies, 
monsters  or  sorcerers,  they  can  fight  and  subdue ;  but 
enemies  unknown  to  the  Gothic  warrior  oppose  them 
now  more  effectually  than  giants,  stormy  seas,  or  armed 
battalions ;  enemies  that  are  always  present,  that  are 
not  to  be  destroyed  in  battle  nor  left  behind  in 
flight :  their  own  indomitable  loves  and  desires.  What 
would  the  conqueror  of  Grendel  have  thought  of  such 
descendants  }  One  word  in  his  story  answers  the  ques- 
tion :  "  Better  it  is,"  says  he,  "  for  every  man,  that  he 
avenge  his  friend  than  that  he  mourn  much."  This  is 
the  nearest  approach  to  tenderness  discoverable  in  the 
whole  epic  of  ''  Beowulf." 

In  this  contest  between  heroes  differing  so  greatly 
in  their  notion  of  the  duties  and  possibilities  of  life 
with  whom  do  we  side,  we  of  to-day.^  With  Beo- 
wulf or  with  Lancelot  ?  Which  of  the  two  has 
survived  ?  Which  of  them  is  nearest  of  kin  to  us  ? 
Under  various  names  and  under  very  different  con- 
ditions, Lancelot  still  continues  to  live  in  our  thoughts 
and  to  play  his  part  in  our  stories.     We  shall  find  him 


36  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

in  the  pages  of  Walter  Scott  ;  he  is  present  in  the- 
novels  of  George  Eliot.  For  better  or  for  worse,  the 
literature  begun  in  England  by  the  conquerors  at  the 
battle  of  Hastings  still  reigns  paramount. 

Moreover,  the  new  possessors  of  the  English  country- 
were  fond  of  tales  and  short  stories,  either  moving  or 
amusing,  in  which  a  word  would  make  the  reader  laugh 
or  make  him  thoughtful ;  but  where  there  was  no 
tirade,  no  declamation,  no  loud  emphasis,  no  vague 
speculation,  a  style  of  writing  quite  unknown  to  the 
islanders  and  contrary  to  their  genius.  When  they 
returned  of  an  evening  to  their  huge  and  impregnable 
castles,  in  perfect  security  and  in  good  humour,  they 
liked  to  hear  recited  stories  in  prose,  some  of  which  are 
still  extant  and  will  never  be  read  without  pleasure  : 
the  story  of  Floire  and  Blanche fleur,  for  instance,  or 
perhaps,  also  that  of  Aucassin,  who  preferred  "  his 
gentle  love "  to  paradise  even  more  unconcernedly 
than  the  lover  in  the  old  song  rejected  the  gift  of 
"  Paris  la  grand  ville  ;  '*  of  Aucassin,  in  whose  adven- 
tures the  Almighty  interposes,  not  in  the  manner  of  the 
Jehovah  of  the  Bible,  but  as  "  God  who  loveth  lovers  ;"  ^ 
and  where  Nicolete  is  so  very  beautiful  that  the  touch 
of  her  fair  hands  is  enough  to  heal  sick  people.  Accor- 
ding to  the  author  the  same  wonder  is  performed  by 
the  tale  itself ;  it  heals  sorrow  : 

^  "  Nouvelles  Fran9aises  en  prose,"  ed.  Moland  and  d'Heri- 
cault,  Paris,  1856.  Four  English  versions  of  the  story  of  Floire 
and  Blanchefleur  are  extant.  The  story  of  Amis  and  Amile  was 
also  very  popular.  "Amis  and  Amiloun,"  ed.  Kolbing  (Heilbronn, 
1884).  The  cantefable  of  Aucassin  is  of  the  twelfth  centurv^ 
(G.  Paris,  "Litterature  fran9aise  au  moyen  age,"  1888,  §  51). 


BEFORE  SHAKESPEARE.  37 

"  Sweet  the  song,  the  story  sweet, 
There  is  no  man  hearkens  it, 
No  man  living  'neath  the  sun, 
So  outwearied,  so  foredone. 
Sick  and  woful,  worn  and  sad, 
But  is  healed,  but  is  glad 
'Tis  so  sweet."  ^ 


So  Speaks  the  author,  and  since  his  time  the  per- 
formance of  the  same  miracle  has  been  the  aim  of  the 
many  tale-writers  of  all  countries  ;  they  have  not  all 
of  them  failed. 

The  fusion  of  these  two  sorts  of  stories,  the  epic- 
romance  and  the  tale,  produced  long  afterwards  in 
every  country  of  Europe  the  novel  as  we  know  it  now. 
To  the  former,  the  novel  owes  more  especially  its 
width  of  subject,  its  wealth  of  incident,  its  occasionally 
dignified  gait ;  to  the  second,  its  delicacy  of  observation, 
its  skill  in  expression  of  detail,  its  naturalness,  its  real- 
ism. If  we  care  to  examine  them  closely,  we  shall 
find  in  the  greater  number  of  those  familiar  tragi- 
comedies, which  are  the  novels  of  our  own  day, 
discernible  traces  of  their  twofold  and  far-oiF  origin. 


II. 

The  first  result  of  the  diffusion  in  England,  afiier  the   . 
Conquest,  of  a  new  literature  full  of  southern  inventions    \ 
and  gaieties,  and  loves,  and  follies,  was  the  silencing  of 
the  native  singers.     This  silence  lasted  for  a  hundred 

^  Mr.   Andrew  Lang's  translation,   "  Aucassin   and   Nicolete  '* 
^(London,  1887,  i6mo.). 


38  THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL, 

years  ;  the  very  language  seemed  doomed  to  disappear. 
What  was  the  good  of  writing  in  EngHsh,  when  there 
was  hardly  any  one  who  cared  to  read  it,  and  even  those 
few  were  learning  French,  and  coming  by  degrees  to 
enjoy  the  new  literature  ?  But  it  turned  out  that  the 
native  English  writers  had  not  been  swept  away  for 
ever.  Their  race,  though  silenced,  was  not  extinct : 
they  were  not  dead,  but  only  asleep. 

The  first  to  awake  were  the  scholars,  the  men  who 
had  studied  in  Paris.  It  was  quite  natural  that  they 
should  be  less  deeply  impressed  with  nationalism  than 
the  rest  of  their  compatriots  ;  learning  had  made  them 
cosmopolitan  ;  they  belonged  less  to  England  than  to 
the  Latin  country,  and  the  Latin  country  had  not 
suffered  from  the  Conquest.  Numerous  scholars  of 
English  origin  shone  forth  as  authors  from  the  twelfth 
century  onwards  ;  among  them  Geoffrey  of  Monmouth, 
of  Arthurian  fame,  Joseph  of  Exeter,  John  of  Salisbury, 
Walter  Map,  Nigel  Wireker,  and  many  others  of 
European  reputation. 

In  the  thirteenth  century  another  awakening  takes 
place  in  the  palace  which  the  Norman  enchanter  had 
doomed  to  a  temporary  sleep.  Translators  and  imi- 
tators set  to  work ;  the  English  language  is  again 
employed  ;  the  storm  has  abated,  and  it  has  become 
evident  that  there  still  remain  people  of  English  blood 
and  language  for  whom  it  is  worth  while  to  write. 
Innumerable  books  are  composed  for  them,  that  they 
may  learn,  ignorant  as  they  are  of  French  or  Latin,, 
what  is  the  thought  of  the  day.  Robert  Manning  de 
Brunne  states,  in  the  beginning  of  the  fourteenth  century,. 
that  he  writes  : 


BEFORE  SHAKESPEARE,  39 

**  Not  for  the  lerid  bot  for  the  lewed, 
Ffor  tho  that  in  this  land  wone, 
That  the  Latyn  no  Frankvs  cone, 
Ffor  to  haf  solace  and  gamen 
In  felawschip  when  thay  sitt  samen." 

They  are  to  enjoy  this  new  literature  in  common,  be 
it  rehgious,  be  it  imaginative  or  historical  ;  they  will 
discuss  it  and  it  will  improve  their  minds  ;  it  will  teach 
them  to  pass  judgments  even  on  kings  : 

"  And  gude  it  is  for  many  thynges 
For  to  here  the  dedis  of  kynges 
Whilk  were  foles  and  whilk  were  wyse."  ^ 

In  their  turn  the  English  poets  sang  of  Arthur  ;  in 
all  good  faith  they  adopted  his  glory  as  that  of  an 
ancestor  of  their  own.  Among  them  a  man  like  Laya- 
mon  accepted  the  French  poet  Wace  for  his  model,  and 
in  the  beginning  of  the  thirteenth  century,  devoted 
thirty-two  thousand  lines  to  the  Celtic  hero  ;  nor  was 
he  ever  disturbed  by  the  thought  that  Arthur's  British 
victories  might  have  possibly  been  English  defeats.^ 
Then  came  innumerable  poems,  translated  or  imitated 
from  French  romances,  on  Charlemagne  and  Roland, 
Gawain  and  the  Green  Knight,  Bovon  of  Hanstone^ 
Percival,  Havelock  the  Dane,  King  Horn,  Guy  of 
Warwick,  Alexander,  Octavian,  and  the  Trojan  War. 3 

^  "The  Story  of  England,"  a.d.  1338,  ed.  F.  J.  Furnival^ 
London,  1887,  two  vols.  8vo,  vol.  i.  p.  i. 

2  "  Layamon's  Brut,"  ed.  Madden,  London,  1847,  three  vols.  8vo. 

3  See,  among  others,  the  publications  of  the  Early  English  Text 
Society,  the  Camden  Society,  the  Percy  Society,  the  Roxburghe 
Club,    the   Bannatyne    Club,   the   Altenglische    Bibliothek   of   E. 


40  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

Hundreds  of  manuscripts,  some  of  them  splendidly 
illuminated,  testify  at  the  present  day  to  the  immense 
popularity  of  these  imitations  of  French  originals,  and 
provide  endless  labour  for  the  many  learned  societies 
that  in  our  century  have  undertaken  to  print  them. 

Layamon's  indifference  to  the  price  paid  by  his  com- 
patriots for  Arthur's  glory  was  not  peculiar  to  himself 
It  is  characteristic  of  a  policy  of  amalgamation  delibe- 
rately followed  from  the  beginning  by  the  Normans. 
As  soon  as  they  were  settled  in  the  country  they  desired 
to  unify  the  traditions  of  the  various  races  inhabiting" 
the  great  island,  in  the  belief  that  this  was  a  first  and 
necessary  step  towards  uniting  the  races  themselves. 
Rarely  was  literature  used  for  political  purposes  with 
more  cleverness  and  with  more  important  results.  The 
conquerors  set  the  example  themselves,  and  from  the 
£rst  adopted  and  treated  all  the  heroic  beings  who  had 
won  glory  in  or  for  England,  and  whose  fame  lingered 
in  ballads  and  popular  songs,  as  if  they  had  been  per- 
sonal ancestors  of  their  own.     At  the  same  time  they 

Kolbing  (Heilbronn)  ;  the  "  Metrical  Romances  of  the  Xlllth, 
XlVth,  and  XVth  Centuries,"  of  H.  W.  Weber  (Edinburgh, 
l8io,  three  vols.  8vo) ;  the  ''Catalogue  of  MS.  Romances  in  the 
British  Museum,"  by  H.  L.  D.  Ward  (London,  1887);  "Bishop 
Percy's  Folio  MS.  ;  Ballads  and  Romances,"  ed.  J.  W.  Hales  and 
F.  J.  Furnivall,  London,  Ballad  Society,  1867,  &c. 

The  publications  of  the  Early  English  Text  Society  include, 
among  others,  the  romances  of  "  Ferumbras,"  "  Otuel,"  "  Huon  of 
Burdeux,"  "  Charles  the  Crete,"  "  Four  Sons  of  Aymon,"  "  Sir 
Bevis  of  Hanston,"  "  King  Horn,"  with  fragments  of  "  Floriz  and 
Blauncheflur,"  "  Havelok  the  Dane,"  "Guy  of  Warwick," 
*' William  of  Palerne,"  "  Generides,"  "  Morte  Arthure,"  Lone- 
lich's  "History  of  the  Holy  Grail,"  "Joseph  of  Arimathie,"  "Sir 
Gawaine  and  the  Green  Knight,"  &c.     Others  are  in  preparation. 


BEFORE  SHAKESPEARE.  41 

induced  the  conquered  race  to  adopt  the  theory  that 
mythic  Trojans  were  their  progenitors,  a  theory  already 
discovered  and  applied  by  the  French  to  their  own 
early  history,  and  about  which  fables  were  already 
^current  among  the  Welsh  people  :  both  races  were  thus 
connected  together  as  lineal  descendants,  the  one  of 
Brutus,  the  other  of  Francus  ;  and  an  indissoluble  link 
•united  them  to  the  classic  nations  of  antiquity.  ^     So  it 

^  The  adoption  by  Geoffrey  of  Monmouth,  in  the  twelfth  cen- 
tury, of  Brutus  the  Trojan  as  father  of  the  British  race,  as  Nen- 
nius  had  done  two  centuries  earlier,  did  much  for  the  spreading  of 
this  belief;  the  popularity  and  authority  of  Geoffrey's  fabulous 
iiistory  was  so  great  that  for  several  centuries  the  gravest  English 
iiistorians  accepted  his  statements  concerning  Brutus  without  hesi- 
tation. Matthew  Paris,  the  most  accurate  and  trustworthy  his- 
torian of  the  thirteenth  century,  gives  an  account  of  his  coming 
to  the  island  of  Albion,  "that  was  then  inhabited  by  nobody  but  a 
few  giants":  "  Erat  tunc  nomen  insulae  Albion,  quse  a  nemine, 
exceptis  paucis  gigantibus  habitabatur."  Brutus  proceeds  to  the 
banks  of  the  Thames,  and  there  founds  his  capital,  which  he  calls 
the  New  Troy,  Trojam  novam,  "  quae  postea,  per  corruptionem 
vocabuli  Trinovantum  dicta  fuerit  "  ("  Chronica  Majora,"  Rolls 
Series,  I.  pp.  2 1-22).  In  the  fourteenth  century  Ralph,  in  his  famous 
*'  Polychronicon,"  gives  exactly  the  same  account  of  the  deeds  of 
the  Trojan  prince,  and  they  continued  in  the  time  of  Shakespeare 
to  be  history.  Here  is  the  learned  account  Holinshed  gives  of 
these  events  in  his  "  Chronicles  ": 

"  Hitherto  have  we  spoken  of  the  inhabitants  of  this  He  before 
the  coming  of  Brute,  although  some  will  needs  have  it  that  he  was 
the  first  which  inhabited  the  same  with  his  people  descended  of 
the  Troians,  some  few  giants  onelie  excepted  whom  he  utterlie 
destroied,  and  left  not  one  of  them  alive  through  the  whole  lie. 
But  as  we  shall  not  doubt  of  Brutes  coming  hither  ..."  &c. 

"  This  Brutus  or  Brytus  (for  this  letter  Y  hath  of  ancient  times 
had  the  sounds  both  of  V  and  I)  .   .  .  was  the  sonne  of  Silvius,  the 


42  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

happened  that  in  mediasval  England  French  singers- 
were  to  be  heard  extolling  the  glory  of  Saxon  kings, 
while  English  singers  told  the  deeds  of  Arthur,  the 
arch-enemy  of  their  race.  Nothing  gives  a  better  idea 
of  this  extraordinary  amalgamation  of  races  and  tradi- 
tions than  a  certain  poem  of  the  thirteenth  century 
written  in  French  by  a  Norman  monk  of  Westminster, 
and  dedicated  to  Eleanor  of  Provence,  wife  of  Henry 
III.,  in  which  we  read  : 

"  In  the  world,  I  may  confidently  say,  there  never 
was  country,  kingdom  or  empire,  where  so  many  good 
kings,  and  holy  too,  were  found,  as  in  the  English 
island.  .  .  .  Saints  they  were,  martyrs  and  confessors, 
of  whom  several  died  for  God  ;  others  most  strong  and 
hardy,  as  were  Arthur,  Edmund,  and  Knut."  ^ 

Rarely  was  the  like  seen  in  any  literature  ;  here  is  a 
poem  dedicated  to  a  Frenchwoman  by  a  Norman  of  Eng- 
land, which  begins  with  the  praise  of  a  Briton,  a  Saxon, 
and  a  Dane.  The  same  phenomenon  is  to  be  noticed, 
after  the  Conquest  in  romances,  chronicles  and  histories. 

Sonne  of  Ascanius,  the  sonne  of  Aeneas  the  Trojan,  begotten  of  his 
wife  Creusa,  and  borne  in  Troie,  before  the  citie  was  destroied  " 
(book  ii.  chap.  i.). 

^  "  En  mund  ne  est  (ben  vus  I'os  dire) 

Pais,  reaume,  ne  empire 

U  tant  unt  este  bons  rois 

E  seinz,  cum  en  isle  d'Englois  .  .  . 

Seinz,  martirs  e  confessurs 

Ki  pur  Deu  mururent  plursurs  ; 

Li  autre  forz  e  hardiz  mutz, 

Cum  fu  Arthurs,  Aedmunz,  e  Knudz." 
("  Lives  of  Edward  the   Confessor,"    ed.   H.   R.    Luard,  London,, 
Rolls,  1858,  8vo.) 


BEFORE  SHAKESPEARE.  45 

Whoever  the  author  may  be,  whether  of  French 
or  English  blood,  the  unity  of  origin  of  the  two  races 
receives  almost  invariably  the  fullest  acknowledgment  ; 
the  inhabitants  of  the  great  island  cease  to  look  towards 
Germany,  Denmark  and  Scandinavia,  for  their  ancestors, 
or  for  the  sources  of  their  inspiration  ;  they  look  rather,, 
like  their  new  French  companions,  to  Rome,  Greece 
and  Troy.  This  policy  produced  not  only  momentous 
social  results,  but  also  very  important  literary  conse- 
quences ;  the  intellectual  connection  with  the  north 
being  cut  off,  the  Anglo-French  allowed  themselves  to 
be  drilled  with  the  Latin  discipline  ;  the  ancient  models 
ceased  to  appear  to  them  heterogeneous  ;  they  studied 
them  in  all  good  faith  as  the  works  of  distant  relations, 
with  such  result  that  they,  unlike  the  Germanic  and 
Scandinavian  peoples,  were  ready,  when  the  time  of  the 
Renaissance  came,  to  benefit  by  the  great  intellectual 
movement  set  on  foot  by  southern  neo-classic  nations  ; 
and  while  Italy  produced  Ariosto  and  Tasso,  while  Spain 
possessed  Cervantes,  and  France  Montaigne,  Ronsard 
and  Rabelais,  they  were  ready  to  give  birth  to  the  un- 
paralleled trio  of  Spenser,  Bacon  and  Shakespeare. 

From  the  fourteenth  century  this  conclusion  was  easy 
to  foresee  ;  for,  even  at  that  period,  England  took  part 
in  a  tentative  Renaissance  that  preceded  the  great  one 
of  the  sixteenth  century.  At  the  time  when  Italy 
produced  Petrarca  and  Boccaccio,  and  France  had 
Froissart,  England  produced  Chaucer,  the  greatest  of 
the  four. 

Famous  as  Chaucer  was  as  a  story-teller,  it  is  strange 
that  he  was  to  have  almost  no  influence  on  the  develop- 
ment of  the  novel  in  England.    When  we  read  of  Harry 


44  THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL, 

Bailly  and  the  Wife  of  Bath,  of  the  modest  Oxford 
clerk  and  the  good  parson  ;  when  we  turn  the  pages  of 
the  Inimitable  story  of  Troilus  and  the  fickle,  tender, 
charming  Cressida,  it  seems  as  if  nothing  was  lacking 
to  the  production  of  perfect  novels.  All  the  elements 
/of  the  art  are  there  complete  :  the  delicate  analysis  of 
passions,  the  stirring  plot,  the  natural  play  of  various 
characters,  the  very  human  mixture  of  grossness  and 
tenderness,  of  love  songs  and  rough  jokes,  the  portraits 
of  actual  beings  belonging  to  real  life  and  not  to 
dreamland.  It  was  only  necessary  to  break  the 
cadence  of  the  verse  and  to  write  such  stories  in  prose. 
No  one  did  it  ;  no  one  tried  to  do  it. 

The  fact  is  the  stranger  if  we  remember  that 
Chaucer's  popularity  never  flagged.  It  was  at  its 
height  in  the  fifteenth  and  sixteenth  centuries  ;  in  the 
following  period  the  kings  of  literature,  Dryden  and 
Pope,  did  homage  to  him.  His  works  had  been 
amongst  the  first  to  be  printed.  Caxton's  original 
edition  was  quickly  followed  by  a  second.  ^  The  latter 
was  adorned  with  illustrations,  and  this  rapid  publica- 
tion of  a  second  and  amended  text  testifies  to  the  great 
reverence  in  which  the  author  was  held.  Nevertheless 
it  is  the  fact  that  Chaucer  stands  alone ;  authors  of 
prose  novels  who  wrote  nearly  two  centuries  after  his 
time,  instead  of  trying  to  follow  in  his  footsteps,  sought 
their  models  either  in  the  old  epic  literature  or  in 
French  and  Italian  story-books.     This  is  exactly  what 

^  Both  editions  are  undated  ;  the  first  one  seems  to  have  been 
published  in  1478,  the  second  in  1484  (W.  Blades,  "  Life  and 
Typography  of  William  Caxton,"  1861,  two  vols.  4to). 


CAXTON  S    REPRESENTATION    OF   CHAUCER's    PILGRIMS,    I484.  [/.  ^5. 


BEFORE  SHAKESPEARE.  47 

Chaucer  had  done  himself ;  but  they  did  it  with  very 
different  success,  and  entirely  missed  the  benefits  of  the 
great  advance  made  by  him.  By  another  strange 
caprice  of  fate  it  was  these  sixteenth-century  writers, 
and  not  Chaucer,  who  were  to  be  the  ancestors  of  the 
world-famous  novelists  of  a  later  age,  of  the  Richard- 
sons  and  Fieldings  of  the  eighteenth  century. 

In  one  thing,  then,  the  French  conquerors  entirely 
failed  ;  they  never  succeeded  in  acclimatizing  during 
the  Middle  Ages  those  shorter  prose  stories  which 
were  so  popular  in  their  own  country,  in  which  they 
themselves  delighted  and  of  which  charming  and  some- 
times exquisite  models  have  come  to  us  from  the  twelfth 
century  downwards.  When  this  art  so  thoroughly 
French  began,  as  we  shall  see,  to  be  cultivated  in 
England,  it  was  the  outcome  of  the  Renaissance,  not 
of  the  Conquest.  Hundreds  of  volumes  of  mediaeval 
English  manuscripts  preserve  plenty  of  sermons, 
theological  treatises,  epic-romances,  poems  of  all  sorts ; 
but  the  student  will  not  discover  one  single  original 
prose  story  to  set  by  the  side  of  the  many  examples 
extant  in  French  literature ;  nothing  resembling  the 
French  stories  of  the  thirteenth  century,  so  delightful 
in  their  frank  language,  their  brisk  style  and  simple 
grace,  in  which  we  find  a  foretaste  of  the  prose  of 
Le  Sage  and  Voltaire  ;  nothing  to  be  compared,  even 
at  a  distance,  in  the  following  century,  with  the  narra- 
tives of  Froissart,  who,  it  is  true,  applied  to  history  his 
genius  for  pure  romance  ;  nothing  like  the  anecdotes 
so  well  told  by  the  Knight  of  La  Tour  Landry  for 
the  instruction  of  his  daughters  ;  nothing  that  at  all 
approaches   "  Petit  Jehan  de  Saintre "  or    the    "  Cent 


48  THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL, 

nouvelles "  in  the  fifteenth  century.  To  find  English 
prose  tales  of  the  Middle  Ages  we  should  be  forced 
to  look  through  the  religious  manuscripts  where  they 
figure  under  the  guise  of  examples  for  the  reader's 
edification.  A  very  troublesome  search  it  is,  but  not 
always  a  vain  one ;  some  of  these  stories  deserve  to  be 
included  among  the  most  memorable  legends  of  the 
Middle  Ages.  To  give  an  idea  of  them  I  will  quote 
the  story  of  a  scholar  of  Paris,  after  Caesarius,  but 
told  in  far  better  style  by  the  holy  hermit  Rolle  de 
Hampole,  in  the  fourteenth  century.  It  is  short  and 
little  known  : 

"  A  scolere  at  Pares  had  done  many  full  synnys  the 
whylke  he  had  schame  to  schryfe  hym  of.  At  the 
last  gret  sorowe  of  herte  ouercome  his  schame,  & 
when  he  was  redy  to  schryfe  till  (to)  the  priore  of  the 
abbay  of  Saynte  Victor,  swa  mekill  contricione  was  in 
his  herte,  syghynge  in  his  breste,  sobbynge  in  his 
throtte,  that  he  moghte  noghte  brynge  a  worde  furthe. 
Thane  the  prioure  said  till  hym  :  Gaa  &  wrytte  thy 
synnes.  He  dyd  swa,  &  come  a-gayne  to  the  prioure 
and  gafe  hym  that  he  hade  wretyn,  ffor  yitt  he  myghte 
noghte  schryfe  hym  with  mouthe.  The  prioure  saghe 
the  synnys  swa  grette  that  thurghe  leve  of  the  scolere 
he  schewede  theyme  to  the  abbotte  to  hafe  conceyle. 
The  abbotte  tuke  that  byll  that  ware  wrettyn  in  & 
lukede  thare  one.  He  fande  na  thynge  wretyn  & 
sayd  to  the  priour  :  What  may  here  be  redde  thare 
noghte  es  wretyne .?  That  saghe  the  priour  & 
wondyrd  gretly  &  saide  :  Wyet  ye  that  his  synns 
here  warre  wretyn  &  I  redde  thaym,  bot  now  I  see 
that  God  has  sene  hys   contrycyone  &   forgyfes  hym 


BEFORE  SHAKESPEARE.  49 

all   his  synnes.      This  the  abbot  &  the  prioure   tolde 
the  scolere,  &  he,  with  gret  joy  thanked  God."  ^ 

But    instances    of    this    kind    of    story    lack    those 
features  of  gaiety   and  satirical    observation  of  which 
French  stories  are  full,  and   which   are   an  important    ^^ 
element  of  the  novel.     Some  are  mystical  ;  others,  in 
which  the  devil  figures  on  whom  the  saints  play  rude 
tricks,  are  intended    to    raise  a  loud   laugh  ;    in  both 
cases  real  life  is  equally   distant.     A  keen  faculty  of  ,^ 
observation  however  existed  in  the  nation  ;  foibles  of  </ 
human  nature  did  not  escape  the  English  writer's  eye 
any  more  than  its  higher  aspirations.     This   is   illus- 
trated    not    only    by    Chaucer,    who    chose    to    write 
poetry,    but    by    such    men    as    Nigel    Wireker  -    and 
Walter    Map    who    chose    to   write   Latin. 3     But    not 

'  "  English  Prose  Treatises  of  Richard  Rolle  de  Hampole,"  ed. 
G.  G.  Perry,  London,  Early  English  Text  Society,  1866,  8vo.  p.  7. 
Rolle  de  Hampole  died  in  1349.  Csesarius'  tale  (Caesarius  Heister- 
bacensis,  d.  1240)  begins  thus:  "  Erat  ibi  juvenis  quidam  in 
studio,  qui,  suggerente  humani  generis  inimico,  talia  quaedam 
peccata  commiserat,  quae,  obstante  erubescentia,  nulli  hominum 
confiteri  potuit  :  cogitans  tamen  quae  malis  prccparata  sunt  tormenta 
gehenn^e,  &  quae  bonis  abscondita  sunt  gaudia  perennis  vitae, 
timens  etiam  quotidie  judicium  Dei  super  se,  intus  torquebatur 
morsu  conscientiae  &  foris  tabescebat  in  copore  .  .  .  ."  ("Illus- 
trium  miraculorum  .  .  .  libri  xii.,"  bk.  ii.  ch.  10). 

2  "  Speculum  Stultorum,"  in  "  Anglo-Latin  Satirical  Poets  .  .  . 
of  the  Twelfth  Century"  ed.  Th.  Wright,  London,  1872,  2 
vols.  8vo. 

3  "  Gualteri  Mapes  De  nugis  curialium  distinctiones  quinque," 
ed.  Th.  Wright,  Camden  Society,  1850,  4to.  Part  IV.  of  this 
work  contains  the  celebrated  "Disuasio  Valerii  ad  Rufinum  de 
•ducenda  uxore,"  long  attributed  to  St.  Jerome,  and  one  of  the 
principal  text-books  of  the  authors  of  satires  against  women  during 
the  Middle  Ages.  It  was  well  known  to  the  Wife  of  Bath,  who 
held  it  in  special  abomination. 


50  THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL. 

one  English  author  before  the  Renaissance  employed 
such  gifts  in  writing  prose  studies  of  real  Ufe  in  his 
native  tongue.  Owing  to  the  Conquest  a  certain 
discredit  seemed  to  rest  for  generations  on  England's 
original  language.  Long  after  an  English  nation, 
rich  in  every  sort  of  glory  had  come  into  being,  writers 
are  to  be  found  hesitating  to  use  the  national  idiom. 
This  circumstance  is  chiefly  noticeable  in  prose  where 
the  use  of  a  foreign  tongue  offers  less  difficulties 
than  in  poetry.  Prose  was  less  cultivated  in  England 
even  so  late  as  the  commencement  of  the  sixteenth 
century  than  in  France  during  the  thirteenth.  At  the 
time  of  the  Renaissance,  Sir  Thomas  More,  the  wittiest 
Englishman  of  his  day,  whose  English  style  was 
admirable  and  who  moreover  loved  the  language  of 
his  native  land,  wishing  to  publish  a  romance  of  social 
satire,  the  "  Utopia,"  ^  wrote  it  in  Latin.  It  is  one  of 
the  oldest  examples  in  modern  literature  of  that  species 
of  book  which  includes  at  a  later  date  the  story  of 
Gargantua  and  Pantagruel,  Bacon's  '*  New  Atlantis/' 
Cyrano  de  Bergerac's  "  Etats  et  empires  de  la  lune 
et    du    soleil,"    Fenelon's    "  Telemaque,*'     *'  Gulliver's 

'  The  "Utopia"  was  composed  in  1515-1516,  and  was  pub- 
lished anonymously  at  Louvain,  under  the  title  :  "  Libellus  vcre 
aureus,  nee  minus  salutaris  quam  festivus  de  optimo  reipublicae^ 
statu  .  .  .  cura  P.  ^gidii  .  .  .  nunc  primum  .  .  .  editus."  Louvain 
1 5 16,  4to.  It  was  translated  into  English  by  Ralph  Robinson  in 
155 1,  and  this  translation  has  been  reprinted  by  Arber,  London,. 
1869.  Another  famous  novel  of  the  same  class  was  written  in  the 
following  century  also  in  Latin  by  another  Englishman,  or  rather 
Scotchman,  the  celebrated  "Argenis"  of  John  Barclay  (1582-1621). 
It  was  translated  into  English  by  Sir  Robert  Le  Grys,  1629,  4to. 
Queen  Elizabeth  appears  in  it  under  the  name  of  Hyanisbe. 


BEFORE  SHAKESPEARE.  51 

Travels,"  Voltaire's  tales,  &c.  More's  use  of  Latin 
is  to  be  the  more  regretted  since  his  romance  exhibits 
infinite  resources  of  spirit  and  animation  ;  of  all  his 
writings  it  is  the  one  that  best  justifies  his  great  reputa- 
tion for  wit  and  enlightenment.  His  characters  are  living 
men  and  their  conversation  undoubtedly  resembles  that 
which  delighted  him  in  the  society  of  his  friend  Erasmus. 
The  subject  of  the  book  is  the  quest  for  the  best 
possible  government.  More  and  his  companions  meet 
at  Antwerp  one  of  the  fellow  voyagers  of  Amerigo 
Vespucci  the  famous  godfather  of  America,  and  they 
question  him  concerning  the  civilizations  he  has  seen. 
"  He  likewise  very  willingly  tolde  us  of  the  same. 
But  as  for  monsters,  by  cause  they  be  no  newes,  of 
them  we  were  nothyng  inquisitive.  For  nothyng  is 
more  easye  to  bee  founde,  then  bee  barkynge  Scyllaes, 
ravenyng  Celenes,  &  Lestrigones  devourers  of  people, 
&  suche  lyke  great,  &  incredible  monsters.  But  to 
find  citisens  ruled  by  good  &  holsome  lawes,  that  is 
an  exceding  rare,  &  harde  thyng."  ^  By  good  luck 
Amerigo's  companion  had  discovered  an  empire  which 
presented  this  admirable  quality  :  the  island  of  Utopia, 
or  the  country  of  '^  Nowhere."  This  country  became 
immediately  famous  all  over  Europe,  so  much  so  that 
Pantagruel  would  not  look  to  any  other  place  for 
immigrants  to  people  his  newly  conquered  kingdom 
of  Dispodie.  There  he  transported  "  Utopians  to 
the  number  of  9,876,543,210  men,"  says  Rabelais, 
with  his  usual  care  for  exact  numbers,  ''  without  speak- 
ing of  women  and  little  children."  He  did  so  to 
"  refresh,  people,  and  adorn  the  said  country  otherwise 
^  Ralph  Robinson's  translation  {ut  supra). 
4 


52,  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

badly  enough  inhabited  and  desert  in  many  places.''  ^ 
His  acting  in  this  manner  was  only  natural,  for,  as  is 
well  known,  connections  existed  between  his  family  and 
the  Utopians,  his  own  mother  Badebec,  the  wife  of 
Gargantua,  being  ''  daughter  to  the  king  of  the  Amau- 
rotes  in  Utopia."  - 

A  hundred  years  later,  something  of  this  want  of 
confidence  in  the  future  of  English  prose  still  lingered. 
Bacon,  after  having  employed  it  in  his  essays  and 
treatises,  was  seized  with  anxiety  and  kept  in  his  pay 
secretaries  with  whose  help  he  meant  to  translate  all  his 
works  into  Latin,  in  order  to  assure  himself  of  their 
permanence. 

III. 

Some  years  before  Sir  Thomas  More  wrote  his 
"Utopia,"  an  Englishman,  who  had  long  lived  abroad 
and  had  there  learnt  a  new  industry,  unknown  in  his 
own  land,  returned  to  England  and  settled  in  West- 
minster. He  and  his  trade  were  destined  to  exercise 
a  very  important  influence  on  the  diflnasion  of  literature, 
and  especially  on  the  development  of  romances.  His 
art  was  printing,  and  his  name  was  Caxton.  We  can 
iudge  of  the  amazement  he  produced  among  his 
countrymen   by  his  new  art,  from   his   own   wonder ; 

}  "  Pantagruel,  apres  avoir  entierement  conqueste  le  pays  de 
Dispodie,  en  icelluy  transporta  une  colonic  des  Utopiens,  en 
riombre  de  9,876,543,210  hommes,  sans  les  femmes  et  petitz  enfans, 
artisans  de  tous  mesticrs  et  professeurs  de  toutes  sciences  liberales, 
polir  ledict  pays  refraischir,  peupler  et  aorner,  mal  aultrement 
habite  et  desert  en  grande  partie  "  ("  Pantagruel,"  bk.  iii.  ch.  i). 

2  *'  Pantagruel,"  bk.  ii.  ch.  2. 


BEFORE  SHAKESPEARE.  53 

one  of  his  prefaces  shows  clearly  enough  how  ex- 
traordinary his  performance  seemed  to  himself:  "And 
for  as  moche,  says  he,  as  in  the  wrytyng  of  the  same 
my  penne  is  worn,  myn  hande  wery  &  not  stedfast, 
myn  eyen  dimed  with  overmoche  lokyng  on  the  whit 
paper  &  my  corage  not  so  prone  &  redy  to  laboure 
as  hit  hath  ben  &  that  age  crepeth  on  me  dayly 
&  febleth  all  the  bodye,  &  also  be  cause  I  have 
promysid  to  diverse  gentilmen  &  to  my  frendes  to 
addresse  to  hem  as  hastely  as  I  myght  this  sayd  book, 
therfore  I  have  practysed  &  lerned  at  my  grete 
charge  &  dispense  to  ordeyne  this  said  book  in 
prynte  after  the  maner  &  forme  as  ye  may  here 
see,  &  is  not  wreton  with  penne  &  ynke  as  other 
bokes  ben,  to  thende  that  every  man  may  have  them 
attones,  ffor  ail  the  bookes  of  this  storye  named  the 
recule  of  the  historyes  of  troyes  thus  enpryntid  as  ye 
here  see  were  begonne  in  oon  day  &  also  fynysshid  in 
oon  day."  ^ 

The  list  of  his  books  shows  that  he  was  no  less 
intent  upon  diverting  his  customers  than  upon  im- 
proving their  knowledge  and  morals.  The  part 
allotted  to  fiction  was  extremely  large,  not  perhaps 
quite  so  extensive  as  that  occupied  by  the  novel 
proper  in  the  publishers'  lists  of  to-day  ;  but  regarding 
it  as  merely  a  beginning,  it  must  be  admitted  to  be 
very  promising.  Not  only  did  he  print  the  tales  of 
Chaucer,  the  confessions  of  Gower,  with  their 
numerous  stories,  several  poems  of  Lydgate,  a  number 
of  mediaeval  epic  romances  in  verse,  but  he  also  issued 

^  "  Recueyll  of  the  historyes  of  Troye,"  Bruges,  1474  ? 
Epilogue  to  Book  iii. 


54  THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL. 

from  his  press  the  prose  story  of  "  Reynard  the  Fox," 
which  contains  so  much  excellent  dialogue  and  so  many 
fine  scenes  of  comedy  ;  and,  besides,  the  most  remark- 
able prose  romance  that  had  yet  been  written  in  the 
English  language,  the  famous  *'  Morte  d' Arthur "  of 
A  Sir  Thomas  Malory.  Its  appearance  marks  an  epoch 
in  the  history  of  English  romance  literature. 

Why,  among  so  many  famous  works,  should  this  pub- 
lication have  obtained  the  preference  and  the  attention 
of  the  printer  ?  Caxton  states  his  reasons  very  clearly  : 
firstly,  for  him  as  for  Layamon,  Arthur  is  a  national 
hero,  and  Englishmen  should  be  proud  of  him  :  then 
again  he  is  one  of  the  nine  worthies  of  the  world. 
These  nine  dignitaries  were,  as  is  well  known,  three 
pagans.  Hector,  Alexander  and  Caesar  ;  three  Jews, 
Joshua,  David  and  Judas  Maccabasus ;  three  Christians, 
Arthur,  Charlemagne  and  Godfrey  of  Bouillon.  And 
lastly,  Caxton  considered  his  undertaking  justified  by 
the  great  lessons  that  were  to  be  drawn  from  Arthur's 
example  :  "  And  I  accordyng  to  my  copye  have  doon 
sette  it  in  enprynte  to  the  entente  that  noble  men  may 
see  &  lerne  the  noble  actes  chyvalrye  the  jentyl  & 
vertuous  dedes  that  somme  knyghtes  used  in  tho  dayes 
by  whyche  they  came  to  honour  &  how  they  that 
were  vycious  were  punysshed  &  ofte  put  to  shame 
&  rebuke,  humbly  byseching  al  noble  lordes  & 
ladyes  wyth  al  other  estates  of  what  estate  or  degree 
they  been  of,  that  shal  see  &  rede  in  this  sayd  book 
&  werke,  that  they  take  the  good  &  honest  actes  in 
their  remembraunce  &  to  folowe  the  same.  Wherein 
they  shalle  fynde  many  joyous  &  playsaunt  hystoryes 
&  noble  &  renomed  actes  of  humanyte  gentylnesse  & 


BEFORE  SHAKESPEARE.  55 

chyualryes.  For  herein  may  be  seen  noble  chyvalrye, 
curtosye,  humanyte,  frendlynesse,  hardynesse,  love, 
frendshyp,  cowardyse,  murdre,  hate,  vertue  &  synne. 
Doo  after  the  good  &  leve  the  evyl  &  it  shal  brynge 
you  to  good  fame  &  renommee."  ^ 

Everything,  in  fact,  is  to  be  found  in  Malory's  book  ; 
everything,  except  those  marks  of  character  which 
transform  traditional  types  into  living  personalities  ; 
everything  except  those  analyses  of  feeling  which  are 
for  us  the  primary  raison  d'etre  of  the  modern  novel 
and  its  chief  attraction.  The  old  knight's  book  is  a 
vast  compilation  in  which  he  has  melted  down  and 
mixed  together  a  large  number  of  tales  about  Arthur, 
Lancelot,  Gawain,  Galahad,  Percival,  and  all  the 
Knights  of  the  Round  Table.  An  infinite  number 
of  short  chapters,  written '  in  a  clear  and  quiet  style, 
possessing  no  other  charm  than  its  simplicity,  tell  of 
the  loves  and  of  the  fights  of  these  famous  men  ;  "  of 
theyr  marvaylous  enquestes  and  adventures,"  as  Caxton 
has  it,  "thachyevyng  of  the  Sangraal, -and  in  thende 
the  dolorous  deth  and  departyng  out  of  thys  world  of 

^  ''  Le  Morte  Darthur  by  Syr  Thomas  Malory,"  ed.  O.  Sommer 
and  Andrew  Lang,  London,  1889,  2  vol.  8vo.  Caxton's  Preface, 
p.  3.  The  book  was  originally  published  at  Westminster,  in  1485, 
under  the  title  :  "The  noble  and  ioyous  book  entytled  Le  Morte 
Darthur  notwythstondyng  it  treateth  of  the  byrth,  lyf  and  actes 
of  the  sayd  kyng  Arthur  of  his  noble  knyghtes  of  the  rounde  table, 
theyr  marvayllous  enquestes  and  adventures,  thachyevyng  of  the 
Sangraal,  and  in  thende  the  dolorous  deth  and  departyng  out  of 
thys  world  of  them  al,  whiche  book  was  reduced  into  englysshe 
by  Syr  Thomas  Malory  knyght." 

It  ends  with  the  statement  that  it  was  printed  and  "  fynysshed 
in  thabbey  of  Westmestre  the  last  day  of  Juyl  the  yere  of  our  lord 
M  cccc  Ixxxv.     Caxton  me  fieri  fecit." 


56  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

them  al.'^  Malory  never  made  the  slightest  effort  to 
reach  a  grand  style  ;  he  did  not  think  that  there  could 
be  any  other  method  of  writing  than  that  of  putting 
on  paper,  without  preparation,  what  first  came  into  his 
mind.  Since  he  possessed  neither  a  passionate  tempera- 
ment nor  a  wandering  imagination,  he  tells,  without 
any  apparent  emotion,  the  most  important  of  his 
stories,  even  the  last  battle  of  his  hero  ^  and  his  final 
disappearance,  when  he  is  borne  by  fairies  into  the 
Vale,  of  Avilion.  It  is  for  sensitive  hearts  to  weep 
over  these  misfortunes,  if  they  choose.  As  for  him, 
he  goes  on  his  way,  telling  tale  after  tale,  in  the  same 
clear  and  even  voice  ;  but  very  rarely  giving  us  his 
confidence  or  opening  to  us  his  heart. 

Once  in  the  whole  length  of  this  immense  work  he 
does  impart  to  us  his  personal  opinion  on  a  question 
of  importance  :  in  the  twenty-fifth  chapter  of  his 
eighteenth  book,  Malory  confesses  what  he  thinks  ot 
love,  and  lays  aside  his  usual  reserve  :  and  thus 
furnishes  the  first  attempt  at  analysis  of  feeling  to  be 
found  in  the  English  prose  romance.  Malory  declares 
that  every  man  should  love  God  first  and  his  mistress 
afterwards ;  and  so  long  as  a  man  does  love  his  God 

^  "  And  then  kyng  Arthur  smote  syr  mordred  under  the  shelde 
wyth  a  foyne  of  his  spere  thorughoute  the  body  more  than  a 
fadom.  .  And  when  syr  mordred  felte  that  he  had  hys  dcthcs 
wounde,  he  thryst  hymself  wyth  the  myght  that  he  had  up  to  the 
bur  of  kyng  Arthurs  spere.  And  right  so  he  smote  his  fader 
Arthur  wyth  his  swerde  holden  in  bothe  his  handes,  on  the  syde  of 
the  heed,  that  the  swerde  persyd  the  helmet  &  the  brayne  panne,  & 
therwythall  syr  Mordred  fyl  starke  deed  to  the  erthe,  &  the  nobyl 
Arthur  fyl  in  a  swoune  to  the  erthe  &  there  swouncd  ofte  times  " 
(JJt  supra,  book  xxi.  ch.  iv.  p.  847). 


ROBERT   THE   DEVIL,    ABOUT    I5IO. 


[A.  57. 


BEFORE  SHAKESPEARE.  59 

first,    the    other   love   seems   to   him   to  be  not    only 
permissible    but   even    commendable  ;    it    is    a    virtue. 
"  Therfore,    as     may     moneth    floreth   &    floryssheth 
in   many  gardyns,   soo   in  lyke   wyse,  lete  every  man 
of  worship  florysshe  his  herte  in  this  world,  fyrst  unto 
God  &  next  unto  the  joye  of  them  that  he  promysed 
his  feythe  unto  :    for  there  was  never  worshypful  man 
or  worshipfull  woman  but  they  loved  one  better  than 
another  ...   &    suche    love,   I  calle    vertuous   love." 
But    now-a-days,     continues     the     old    knight,    little 
suspecting    that    his    grievance     is    one    of    all    ages, 
men    cannot    love    seven-night    but    they   must  have 
all    their    desires.     The    old   love    was   not  so.     Men 
and  women   could    love  together  seven  years,  and  no 
wanton  lusts  were  between  them,  and  then  was  love, 
truth    and    faithfulness.       "And    loo,"    Malory    adds, 
forgetting    that    his    Lancelot   and    his  Tristan  waited 
much  less  than  seven  years,  "  in  lyke  wyse  was  used 
love  in  Kynge  Arthurs  dayes."  ^ 

Very  strikingly  does  this  view  of  love  contrast 
with  the  southern  irrepressible  impetuosities  of  young 
Aucassin,  who,  considering,  three  centuries  earlier,  this 
same  question  of  holy  and  profane  love,  of  earth'  and 
paradise,  in  the  above-mentioned  exquisite  prose  tale 
which  bears  his  name,  simply  alters  the  order  of  pre- 
cedence afterwards  adopted  by  good  Sir  Thomas :  "  Tell 
me,"  says  he,  "  where  is  the  place  so  high  in  all  the 
world  that  Nicole te,  my  sweet  lady  and  love,  would 
not  grace  it  well  ?  If  she  were  Empress  of  Con- 
stantinople   or    of  Germany,  or    Queen    of  France  or 

^  "  Le  Morte  Darthur,"  ed.  Sommer  and  Lang,  London,  1889, 
8vo.,  book  xviii.  ch.  25,  p.  771. 


6o  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL, 

England,  it  were  little  enough  for  her.  ...  In  Paradise 
what  have  I  to  win  ?  Therein  I  seek  not  to  enter,  but 
only  to  have  Nicolete  my  sweet  lady  that  I  love  so 
well.  .  .  .  For  in  Paradise  go  none  but  .  .  .  these 
same  old  priests,  and  halt  old  men  and  maimed,  who 
all  day  and  night  cower  continually  before  the  altars, 
and  in  the  crypts.  .  .  .  These  be  they  that  go  into 
Paradise  ;  with  them  have  I  naught  to  make.  But  into 
Hell  would  I  fain  go  ;  for  into  Hell  fare  the  goodly 
clerks   and    goodly   knights  that  fall  in  tourneys  and 

great  wars And    thither    pass  the  sweet    ladies. 

.  .  .  Thither  goes  the  gold  and  the  silver  and  cloth 
of  vair,  and  cloth  of  gris,  and  harpers  and  makers,  and 
the  prince  of  this  world.  With  these  I  would  gladly 
go,  let  me  but  have  with  me  Nicolete  my  sweetest 
lady."  I 

No  one  perceived  the  coldness  of  Malory's  stories. 
He  wrote  for  a  youthful  and  enthusiastic  people  ;  it 
was  a  period  of  new  birth  throughout  Europe,  the 
period  of  the  spring-time  of  modern  literature,  the 
epoch  of  the  Renaissance.  There  was  no  need  to 
depict  in  realistic  fashion  the  passions  and  stirrings  of 
the  heart  in  order  to  excite  the  emotion  of  the  reader  ; 
a  relation  of  events  sufficed  for  him  ;  his  own  imagina- 
tion did  the  rest,  and  enlivened  the  dull-painted  canvas 
with  visions  of  every  colour.  The  book  had  as  much 
success  as  Caxton  could  have  expected ;  it  was  con- 
stantly reprinted  during  the  sixteenth  century,  and 
enchanted  the  contemporaries  of  Surrey,  of  Elizabeth, 
and  of  Shakespeare.      It  was  in  vain  that  the  serlous- 

^  "  Aucassin  and  Nicolete/'  done  into  English  by  Andrew  Lang, 
London,  1887,  pp.  6,  1 1,  and  12. 


Y«   NOBLE    HELYAS    KNYGHTE   OF   THE   SWANNE,  '    ABOUT    I550 


[/.  61. 


BEFORE  SHAKESPEARE.  63 

minded  Ascham  condemned  it;  it  survived  his  con- 
demnation as  the  popularity  of  Robin  Hood  survived 
the  sermons  of  Latimer.  Vainly  did  Ascham  denounce 
"  Certaine  bookes  of  Chevalrie.  ...  as  one  for 
example,  Morte  Arthure :  the  whole  pleasure  of 
whiche  booke  standeth  in  two  speciall  poyntes,  in 
open  mans  slaughter,  &  bold  bawdrye.  In  which 
booke  those  be  counted  the  noblest  knightes,  that  do 
kill  most  men  without  any  quarell,  &  commit  fowlest 
aduoulteres  by  sutlest  shiftes."  ^ 

When  the  people  became  more  thoughtful  or  more 
exacting  in  the  matter  of  analysis,  they  neglected  the 
old  book.  After  1634,  two  hundred  years  passed 
without  a  reprint  of  it.  In  our  time  it  has  met 
with  an  aftermath  of  success,  not  only  among  the 
curious,  but  among  a  class  of  readers  who  are  not 
more  exacting  than  Caxton's  clients,  and  who  are 
far  more  interested  in  fact  than  in  feeling.  Children 
form  this  class  of  readers  ;  in  the  present  century 
Malory's  book  has  been  many  times  re-edited  for  them, 
and  it  is  to  Sir  Thomas  Malory,  rather  than  to 
Tennyson,  Swinburne  or  Morris,  that  many  English 
men  and  women  of  to-day  owe  their  earliest  acquaint- 
ance with  King  Arthur  and  his  Knights. 

Caxton's  example  was  followed  by  many  ;  printing 
presses  multiplied,  and  with  most  of  them  fiction  kept 
its  ground.  A  new  life  was  infused  into  old  legendary 
heroes,  and  they  began  again,  impelled  not  by  the 
genius  of  new  writers,  but  simply  by  the  printer's 
skill,  their  never  ending  journeys  over  the  world. 
Their   stories    were    published    in    England    in    small 

^   "The  Scholemaster,"  London,  1570,  4to. 


64  THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL. 

handy  volumes,  often  of  a  very  good  appearance,  and 
embellished  with  woodcuts.  There  were  prose  stories 
of  "  Robert  the  devyll,"  and  there  were  verse  stories 
of  "Sir  Guy  of  Warwick"  and  of  *'Syr  Eglamoure  of 
Artoys."  Many  of  the  cuts  are  extremely  picturesque 
and  excellently  suited  to  the  general  tone  of  the  story. 
On  the  title-page  the  hero  of  the  tale  usually  sits 
on  his  horse,  and  indomitable  he  looks  with  his 
sword  drawn,  his  plume  full  spread,  his  mien  defiant. 
A  faithful  squire  sometimes  follows  him,  sometimes 
only  his  dog  ;  between  the  feet  of  the  horse  fabulous 
plants  spread  their  unlikely  leaves,  and  give  the  sole 
and  very  doubtful  clue  to  the  country  in  which  the 
knight  is  travelling,  certainly  a  very  desolate  and 
unpleasant  one.  In  this  fashion  does  Duke  Robert 
of  Normandy  travel,  and  so  does  Eglamoure,  and 
Tryamoure,  and  Bevis,  and  Isumbras.  In  the  same 
series  too  is  to  be  seen  *' Y^  noble  Helyas,  Knyght  of 
the  Swanne,"  drawn  by  the  said  swan,  a  somewhat 
wooden  bird,  not  very  different  from  his  successor 
of  a  later  age  whom  we  are  accustomed  to  see  swim- 
ming across  the  stage  to  the  accompaniment  of  Wagner's 
famous  music.  I 

The  means  by  which  English  printers  supplied  them- 
selves with    these  engravings,  is  a  mystery  that  they 

^  "  Robert  the  deuyll,"  London,  Wynkyn  de  Worde,  I  510  ?  8vo. 
"Syr  Tryamoure,"  "  Syr  Beuys  of  Hampton,"  "Syr  Isumbras,"  "Syr 
Degore,"  "The  Knight  of  the  Swanne,"  "  Virgilius,"  and  many 
others  were  published  by  W.  Copland  about  1550.  "  Guy  of 
Warwick"  was  printed  in  the  same  style  about  1560,  "Syr 
Eglamoure  of  Artoys,"  about  1570.  Many  others  were  at  this 
period  printed  in  the  same  way  with  engravings  from  the  same 
wood  blocks. 


"  Then  went  Guy  to  fay  re  Phelis." 
SIR  GUY  OF  WARWICK,"  ABOUT   I560.  [/.  65. 


BEFORE  SHAKESPEARE.  67 

have  kept  to  themselves.  Many  of  the  blocks  were, 
very  probably,  purchased  in  the  Low  Countries.  A  very 
few  are  almost  certainly  of  English  manufacture,  and 
among  them  are  Caxton's  illustrations  of  the  Canterbury 
Tales  :  on  this  account  we  have  given  a  fac-simile  of  the 
most  important  of  them,  representing  the  pilgrims 
seated  round  the  table  at  the  '^  Tabard ''  prior  to 
starting  on  their  immortal  journey.  What  is  certain  is 
that  many  of  these  wood-block  portraits  of  knights, 
supplied  to  the  printers  by  English  or  Dutch  artists, 
underwent  many  successive  christenings.  The  same 
knight,  with  the  same  squire,  the  same  dog  and  the 
same  fabulous  little  wooden  plants  between  the  legs 
of  the  horse  was  sometimes  Romulus  and  sometimes 
Robert  of  Normandy.  In  one  book  a  rather  fine  en- 
graving of  a  lord  and  a  lady  in  a  garden,  represents 
Guy  of  Warwick  courting  "  fayre  Phelis,"  ^  but  in 
another  book  the  same  engraving  does  duty  for  '^  La 
bel  Pucell  "  and  the  knight  "  Graund  Amoure."  2  It 
may  be  observed,  in  passing,  that  these  romances  might 
be  soundly  criticized  without  much  study  of  their  con- 
tents by  simply  inspecting  their  illustrations.  Full  as 
they  are  of  extraordinary  inventions  and  adventures, 
unrestricted  as  their  authors  were  by  considerations  of 
what  was  possible  or  real,  some  dozen  well-chosen 
engravings  seem  enough  to  illustrate  any  number  of 
them.      For,  alas,  there  is  nothing  more  stale  and  more 

^  London,  1560?  410. 

^  "The  history  of  Graund  Amoure  and  la  bel  Pucell,  called 
the  Pastime  of  pleasure,"  by  Stephen  Hawes,  London,  Tottell, 
1555,  4to.  The  same  engraving  embellishes  also  "  The  Squyr  of 
Lowe  Degre,"  published  by  W.  Copland,  &c. 


68 


THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL. 


subject  to  repetitions  than  these  series  of  extraordinary 
adventures  ;  all  their  heroes  are  the  same  hero,  and 
whether  he  was  following  the  philosophical  turn  of  his 
mind,  or  merely  the  thrifty  orders  of  his  printer,  the 
engraver  was  well  justified  in  leaving  as  he  did  in  most 
of  his  drawings  an  empty  scroll  over  the  head  of  his 
knights,  for  the  publisher  to  label  them  at  will,  Robert 
the  Devil  or  Romulus. 

We  are  thus  fairly  advanced  into  the  sixteenth 
century ;  the  Renaissance  has  come  ;  before  long 
Spenser  will  sing  of  the  Fairy  Queen  and  Shakespeare 
will  leave  his  native  Stratford  to  present  to  a  London 
audience  the  loves  of  Juliet  and  Romeo.  Scarcely  any 
sign  of  improvement  appears  yet  in  the  art  of  novel- 
writing  ;  nothing  but  mediaeval  romances  continue  to 
issue  from  the  press  ;  it  is  even  difficult  to  foresee  an 
epoch  in  which  something  analogous  to  the  actual  novel 
might  be  produced  in  England.  Contrary  to  what  was 
taking  place  in  France  at  the  same  time,  that  period 
seemed  far  off.  In  reality,  however,  it  was  near  at 
hand  ;  the  great  age  of  English  literature,  the  age  of 
Elizabeth  and  of  Shakespeare,  was  about  to  furnish, 
at  least  in  the  rough  draft,  the  first  specimens  of  the 
true  novel. 


LEO. 


DRAWING    T?Y    ISAAC    OLIVER,    AFTER    AN    ITALIAN    MODEL. 


CHAPTER  II. 


TUDOR    TIMES,    THE    FASHIONS    AND    THE    NOVEL. 


I. 


ONE  of  the  most  remarkable  effects  of  the  Re- 
naissance was  the  awakening  of  a  slumbering . 
curiosity.  The  regime  of  the  Middle  Ages  was 
just  ended  ;  its  springs  were  exhausted,  its  mysteries 
unveiled,  its  terrors  ridiculed.  Armour  was  beginning 
to  be  thought  troublesome  ;  the  towers  of  the  strong 
castles,  dark  and  too  much  confined  for  the  pleasures  of 
life  ;  the  reasonings  of  the  schoolmen  had  grown  old  : 


c 


70  THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL. 

blind  faith  was  out  of  fashion  ;  a  world  was  ending, 
and  all  that  was  sinking  with  it  appeared  in  the  eyes  of 
the  young  generation,  out  of  season  and  "  tedious  as  a 
twice-told  tale."  The  rupture  between  the  Middle  Ages 
and  modern  times  was  complete  in  certain  countries, 
partial  in  others,  and  consequently  the  Renaissance  had 
very  different  results  among  the  various  peoples  of 
Europe.  But  the  same  characteristic  symptoms  of  an 
eager,  newly  awakened  curiosity  manifested  itself  in 
all.  There  was  no  longer  question  of  continuing,  but 
of  comparing  and  of  discovering.  What  did  the  ancient 
Greeks  and  the  old  Romans  say.^  What  do  our  neigh- 
bours think  .^^  What  are  their  forms  of  style,  their 
recent  inventions  ?  England  competed  with  France  in 
her  youthful  curiosity,  and  English  poets  and  travellers 
following  the  example  of  their  rivals  beyond  the  seas, 
"  plundered  "  (in  the  words  of  Joachim  du  Bellay's 
famous  manifesto  i),  not  only  Athens  and  Rome,  but 
Florence,  Paris,  Venice,  and  all  the  enlightened  towns 
of  France,  Italy,  and  Spain. 

This  curiosity  spurred  on  the  English  in  the  diff^erent 
paths  of  human  knowledge  and  activity  with  an 
audacity  worthy  of  the  Scandinavian  Vikings.  After 
having  destroyed  the  Armada,  they  were  going  to  burn 
the  Spanish  fleet  at  Cadiz,  to  discover  new  lands  in 
America  and  to  give  them  the  name  of  *'  Virginia  "  in 

^  "La  doncques,  Fran9oys,  marchez  couraigeusement  vers  ceste 
superbe  cite  romaine  ;  &  des  serves  depouilles  d'elle,  comme  vous 
avez  fait  plus  d'une  fois,  ornez  vos  temples  &  autelz.  .  .  ,  Pillez 
moi  sans  conscience  les  sacrez  thesors  de  ce  temple  Delphique 
.  .  .  Vous  souvienne  de  vostre  ancienne  Marseille,  secondes 
Athenes !  "     ("La  DefFense  et  illustration  de  la  langue  Fran9oyse," 

1549)- 


TUDOR  TIMES,  FASHIONS  AND  THE  NOVEL.    71 

honour  of  their  queen,  and  to  attempt  the  impossible 
task  of  discovering  a  way  to  China  through  the  icy 
regions  of  the  North  Pole.  The  fine  gentlemen  and  the 
fine  wits,  even  the  lack-dinner,  lack-penny  Bohemians 
of  literature  crossed  the  Channel,  the  Alps,  and  the 
Pyrenees,  seeking,  they  too,  for  gold  mines  to  work, 
gathering  ideas,  listening  to  stories,  noting  down  recent 
discoveries,  and  often  appropriating  the  elegant  vices 
and  the  light  morals  of  the  southern  nations.  C  "  An 
Italianized  Englishman  is  a  devil  incarnate  '^  is  a  / 
popular  proverb  which  quiet  home-keeping  men  were  / 
never  tired  of  repeating. 

Kindly  Ascham  who  had  personally  visited  Italy, 
had  come  back  as  much  horrified  with  the  sights  he 
had  seen  as  Luther  had  been  when  he  returned  from 
Rome.  Of  the  masterpieces  of  art,  of  madonnas  and 
palaces  he  has  little  to  say  ;  but  he  has  much  to  note 
concerning  the  loose  morals  of  the  inhabitants.  He 
beseeches  his  compatriots  not  to  continue  to  visit  this 
dangerous  country  :  they  will  meet  "  Circe  "  there,  and 
will  certainly  greatly  enjoy  themselves  ;  but,  behold,  they 
will  come  back  to  their  native  land  with  an  ass's  head 
and  a  swine's  belly.  In  Italy,  according  to  his  experi- 
ence, a  man  may  sin  to  his  heart's  content  and  no  one 
will  in  any  way  interfere.  He  is  free  to  do  so,  "  as  it 
is  free  in  the  citie  of  London  to  chose  without  all 
blame,  whether  a  man  lust  to  weare  shoo  or  pantocle." 
Yet  he  speaks  of  what  he  has  seen  with  his  own  eyes  r 
"  I  was  once  in  Italie  my  selfe  ;  but  I  thanke  God  my 
abode  there  was  but  ix  dayes.  And  yet  I  sawe  in 
that  little  tyme  in  one  citie  more  libertie  to  sinne  than 
ever  I  heard  tell  of  in  our  noble  citie  of  London  in  ix. 


7  2  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

yeare.  .  .  The  lord  maior  of  London,  being  but  a 
civill  officer,  is  commonlie  for  his  tyme  more  diligent  in 
punishing  sinne  .  .  .  than  all  the  bloodie  inquisitors  in 
Italic  be  in  seaven  yeare." 

When  Englishmen  come  back  from  Italy  they  are^ 
full  of  smiles ;  they  have  a  ready  wit,  and  delight  jti_ 
vain  talk.     They  give  up  all  idea  of  getting  married  ; 
love  and  no  marriage  is  their  only  wish ;  they  arrange 
assignations  ;    they  behave  most  improperly.      "  They 
be  the  greatest  makers  of  love,  the  daylie  daliers,  with 
such    pleasant    wordes,    with    such    smilyng   &    secret 
countenances,  with   such   signes,  tokens,   wagers,  pur- 
posed to    be   lost    before    they  were    purposed   to    be 
made,  with    bargaines    of  wearing    colours,  floures  & 
herbesi  to  breede   occasion  of  often   meeting  of  him 
&  her  &  bolder  talking  of  this  &  that,  &c."  ^ 
/^  According  to  some,  travelling  increased,  in  a  certain 
/   number  of  Englishmen,  the  tendency  we  have  already 
\^  noticed,  to  feel  contempt  towards  their  mother  tongue. 
There  are  persons,  wrote  George  Pettie  in  1581,  "who 
will  set  light  by  my  labours,  because  I  write  in  English  : 
and  those  are  some  nice  travailours  who  retourne  home 
with  such  queasie  stomachs  that  nothing  will  downe  with 
r-^  them  but  French,  Italian  or  Spanish  .  .  .  They  count 
^  £our  tongue]   barren  :   they  count   it  barbarous  :  they 
count  it  unworthy  to  be  accounted   of."     The   more 
reason,  thinks    Pettie,    to    try   to    polish   it  ;    if  it    is 
barren  it  can   be  enriched   by   borrowing  from  other 
languages,  especially  the  Latin  :   "  It  is  indeed  the  readie 

^  "The  Scholemaster,"  London,  1570,  410,  p.  26;  Arber's 
reprint,  1870,  410,  pp.  83,  et  seq.  Ascham  had  died  in  1568  ;  this 
"work  was  published  by  his  widow. 


TUDOR  TIMES,  FASHIONS  AND  THE  NOVEL    73 

waie  to  inrich  our  tongue  and  make  it  copious  ;  and  it 
is  the  waie  which  all  tongues  have  taken  to  inrich  them- 
selves." I  Pettie,  as  we  see,  wished  Du  Bellay's  advice 
to  be  followed,  and  Rome  to  be  "  plundered." 
X  But  Ascham's  pleading,  though  many  others  spoke 
to  the  same  effect,-  had  very  little  result.  Learned 
and  well  informed  as  he  was,  his  **  conservatism "  in 
all  things  was  so  intense  that  much  might  be  laid  to 
the  account  of  this  tendency  of  his  mind.  Had  he  not 
written  that  "  his  soul  had  such  an  horror  of  English 
or  Latin  books  containing  new  doctrines  that,  except 
the  psalter  and  the  New  Testament,  this  last,  too,  in 
the  Greek  text,  he  had  never  taken  any  book,  '  either 
small  or  big,'  to  use  Plato's  words,  concerning  Christian 
religion  " }  3  Had  he  not  recommended  the  bow  as, 
even  in  those  gunpowder  times,  the  best  weapon  in 
war  .?  "  If  I  were  of  authority,  I  would  counsel  all 
the  gentlemen  and  yeomen  of  England  not  to  change 
it  -with  any  other  thing,  how  good  soever  it  seems  to 

^  Preface  dated  1581  to  "Civile  Conversation,"  London,  1586, 
4to. 

2  The  novelist  Greene,  for  example,  an^  the  novelist  Lyly. 
The  latter  writes  in  his  "Euphues,"  1579  :  "Let  not  your  mindes 
be  caryed  away  with  vaine  delights,  as  with  travailing  into  farre  & 
straunge  countries,  wher  you  shal  see  more  wickednesse  then  learn 
vertue  &  wit"  (Arber's  reprint,  1868,  p.  152).  As  for  Greene, 
see  infra^  chap.  iv.  One  of  the  most  curious  of  these  denunciations 
of  travel  was  the  "Quo  vadisr  a  juste  censure  of  travel,"  by  Bishop 
Joseph  Hall,  1617,  izmo.  The  author  demonstrates  that  most  of 
the  vices  of  the  English  are  of  foreign  importation,  chiefly  from 
France  and  Italy  ;  good  qualities  alone  are  native  and  national. 
The  best  thing  to  do,  then,  is  to  keep  at  home. 

3  Letter  (in  Latin)  to  the  Archbishop  of  York,  1544.  "Works," 
ed.  Giles,  London,  1865,  4  vol.  i6mo,  vol.  i.  p.  35. 

5 


74  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL, 

be  ;  but  that  still,  according  to  the  old  wont  of 
England,  youths  should  use  it  for  the  most  honest 
pastime  in  peace,  that  men  might  handle  it  as  a  most 
sure  weapon  in  war."  ^  The  other  "  strong  weapons  " 
must  not  lead  men  to  forget  this  one  :  a  thing  they 
have  nevertheless  done. 

Nothing  dismayed  by  the  threat  of  the  dire  con- 
sequences of  Circe's  wiles,  travellers  eager  to  see  her 
crowded  to  the  south.  They  continued  not  to 
"  exchewe  the  way  to  Circes  court,  but  go  &  ryde 
&  runne  &  flie  thether."  -  No  education  was  com- 
plete without  a  sojourn  on  the  continent.  Surrey, 
Wyatt,  Sidney,  penniless  Robert  Greene,  and  hundreds 
if  not  thousands  of  others  went  there.  There  was  an 
eagerness  to  see  and  to  learn  that  no  sight  and  no 
knowledge  could  satisfy,  that  no  threat  nor  sermon 
could  stop.  Paris,  Venice,  Rome,  Vienna,  the  Low 
Countries,  received  an  ever-increasing  flood  of  English 
visitors. 

II. 

England  in  her  turn,  not  to  mention  the  classics 
of  antiquity  that  were  being  speedily  translated,  was 
flooded  with  French,  Spanish,  and  Italian  books,  again 
to  the  great  dismay  of  good  Ascham.  If  "  Morte 
d' Arthur "  was  bad,  nothing  worse  could  well  be 
imagined  than  Italian  books  in  general.  *'  Ten 
*  Morte  d'Arthures '  do  not  the  tenth  part  so  much 
harme  as  one  of  these  bookes  made  in  Italie  and 
translated  in   England."     They  are  to  be   found  "in 

^  "  Toxophilus,"  1545,  in  "Works,"'  ed.  Giles,  vol.  ii.  p.  5 
2  "  Scholemaster,"  1570,  Arber's  reprint,  p.  77. 


I 


TUDOR  TIMES,  FASHIONS  AND  THE  NOVEL.    75 

every  shop  in  London,"  and  each  of  them  can  do 
more  mischief  than  ten  sermons  at  St.  Paul's  Cross 
can  do  good.  They  introduce  into  the  land  such 
refinements  in  vice  '*  as  the  single  head  of  an  English- 
.man  is  not  hable  to  invent.*'  ^ 

But,  if  unable  to  invent,  the  English  seemed  at  least 
rdetermined  to  enjoy  and  imitate,  for  translating  and^^ 
adapting   went  on  at  a  marvellous   pace.     Boccaccio's  ^^^ 
"  Filocopo,"  2  for  instance,  to  speak  only  of  the  better 
known    of  these    works,  was    translated    in    1567,   his 

'   "  The  Scholemaster,"  Arber's  reprint,  pp.  79,  80. 

'  "A  pleasant  disport  of  divers  noble  personages  .  .  .  intituled 
Philocopo  .  .  .  englished  by  H.  G[ifFord  ?],"  London,  1567,  4 to; 
"  Amorous  Fiametta,  wherein  is  sette  downe  a  catalogue  of  all  & 
singular  passions  of  love  and  jealosie  incident  to  an  enamoured  yong 
gentlewoman  .  .  .  done  into  English  by  B.  Giovano  [/>.,  B.  Young]," 
London,  1587;  "The  Decameron,  containing  an  hundred  pleasant 
novels,"  London,  1620,  fol.  (with  woodcuts);  "The  Civile  Con- 
versation .  .  .  translated  ...  by  G.  Pettie  .  .  .  and  B.  Yong," 
London,  1586,  4to;  "  The  lamentations  of  Amyntas  .  .  .  translated 
out  of  latine  into  english  hexameters,"  by  Abraham  Fraunce,  London, 
1587,  4to;  "Godfray  of  Bulloigne,  or  the  recoverie  of  Hierusalem 
,  .  .  translated  by  R.  C[arew]  .  .  .  imprinted  in  both  languages," 
London,  1594;  "The  courtier  of  Count  Baldesar  Castilio  .  .  . 
done  into  English  by  Th.  Hobby,"  London,  1588,  8vo  (contains  an 
Italian,  English  and  French  text)  ;  "  Diana  of  George  of  Monte- 
mayor,  translated  by  B.  Yong,"  London,  1598,  fol.  Among  other 
translations  three  of  the  most  important  were  Lorc^Berners'  "  Froys- 
shart,"  "  translated  out  of  Frenche  into  our  maternall  Englysshe 
tonge,"  1522,  North's  translation  of  Plutarch  after  the  French  of 
Amyot  (1579),  and  Florio's  translation  of  Montaigne,  1603,  fol., 
which  were  well  known  to  the  dramatists,  and  went  through  several 
editions.  The  British  Museum  possesses  a  copy  of  Florio's  Mon- 
taigne, which  was  the  property  of  Ben  Jonson.  A  far  more  satis- 
factory translation  of  the  same  author  was  made  by  Cotton, 
1685-6,  3  vol.  8vo. 


76  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

*' Amorous  Fiametta,   wherein  Is  sette   downe  a  cata- 
logue of  all  and  singuler  passions  of  love,"  in  1587  ; 
his  "Decameron"  in   1620.     Guazzo's    "Civile  Con- 
versation" was, translated  in  1586  ;  Tasso's  '' Amynta'*' 
in  1587,  and  his  '' Recoverie  of  Hierusalem  "  in  1594. 
Castiglione's  "  Courtier   .   .   .  very  necessary  and  pro- 
fitable for    young  gentlemen  abiding   in  court,   palace 
or  place"  was  published  in  English  in   1588.     It  waa 
"  profitable "  in  a  rather  different  sense  from  the  one 
Ascham  would   have  given  the  word,  for    it   contains 
lengthy    precepts    concerning    assignations    and    love- 
making  :  "  In  my  minde,  the  way  which  the  courtier 
ought  to  take,  to  make  his  love  knowne  to  the  woman> 
me  think  should    be  to  declare   them  in   figures  and 
tokens  more  than  in  wordes.     For  assuredly  there  is 
otherwhite  a  greater  affection  of  love  perceived   in  a 
sigh,  in  a  respect,  in  a  feare,  than. in  a  thousand  wordes. 
Afterwarde,   to  make  the  ey^es  the  trustie  messengers 
that  may  carrie  the  Ambassades  of  the  hart."  ^     Many 
heroes  in  the  English   novels  we  shall  have  to  study 
were  apparently  well  read  in  Castiglione's  "  Courtier." 
Montemayor's  Spanish  "  Diana,"  a  tale  of  princes  and 
shepherds,  .  well    known  to   Sidney,   was  published    in. 
1598.     Ariosto's  ''Orlando  furioso"  appeared  in  1591,, 
in  a  magnificently  illustrated  edition,  and  was  dedicated 
to  the  Queen.     The  engravings,  though  sometimes  said 
to   be   English,  were  in  fact  printed  from  the  Italian 
plates  of  Girolamo    Porro,  of  Padua,  and    had    been 
used    before  in  Italy. 2     Their  circulation  in   England 

^  Sig.  F.  f.  I. 

2  "  Orlando    Furioso,    in     English    heroical    verse,"    by    John 
Harington,   London,    1591,   fol.     The    plates    were    used  in    the 


FRONTISPIECE   TO   HARINGTON  S   TRANSLATION   OF   ARIOSTO,    I59I, 
,  BY   COXON   AND   GIROLAMO   PORRO.  [/.  77. 


TUDOR  TIMES,  FASHIONS  AND  THE  NOVEL.    79 

is  none  the  less  remarkable,  and  the  influence  such 
a  pubHcation  may  have  had  in  the  difl^sing  of  Italian 
tastes  in  this  country  cannot  be  exaggerated.  For 
those  who  had  not  been  able  to  leave  their  native 
land,  it  was  the  best  revelation  yet  placed  before  the 
public  of  the  art  of  the  Renaissance.  That  it  was 
an  important  undertaking  and  a  rather  risky  one, 
the  translator,  John  Harington,  was  well  aware  ;  for 
he  prefaced  his  book  not  only  with  his  dedication 
to  the  Queen,  a  sort  of  thing  to  which  Ascham  had 
had  great  objection, ^  but  by  a  "  briefe  apologie  of 
poetrie,"  especially  of  that  of  Ariosto.  It  must  be 
confessed  that  his  arguments  are  -far  from  convincing, 
and  it  would  have  been  much  better  to  have  left 
the  thing  alone  than  to  have  defended  the  moral 
purposes  of  his  author  by  such  observations  as  these  : 
"  It  may  be  and  is  by  some  objected  that,  although 
he  writes  christianly  in  some  places,  yet  in  some 
other,  he  is  too  lascivious.  .  .  .  Alas  if  this  be  a 
fault  pardon  him  this  one  fault  ;  though  I  doubt  too 
many  of  you,  gentle  readers,  wil  be  to  exorable  in  this 

Italian  edition:  "Orlando  Furioso  .  .  .  novamente  adornato  di 
Figure  di  Rame  da  Girolamo  Porro  Padouano,"  Venice,  1588, 
4to.  There  is,  however,  a  difference  in  the  frontispiece,  where 
.the  allegorical  figure  of  Peace  is  replaced  in  the  English  edition 
by  a  portrait  of  Harington,  engraved  by  Thomas  Coxon,  who  signed 
.as  if  the  whole  frontispiece  was  by  his  hand.  We  give  a  reduced 
facsimile  of  this  frontispiece. 

^  He  had  written  in  his  "  Scholcmaster  "  :  These  "fond  books" 
are  "  dedicated  over  boldlie  to  vertuous  and  honourable  personages, 
the  easelier  to  beguile  simple  and  innocent  wittes.  It  is  pitie  that 
those  which  have  authority  and  charge  to  allow  and  dissallow  bookes 
to  be  printed,  be  no  more  circumspect  herein  than  they  arc " 
^Ar.ber's  reprint,  p.  79). 


8o  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

point,  yea  me  thinks  I  see  some  of  you  searching 
already  for  those  places  of  the  booke  and  you  are  halfe 
offended  that  I  have  not  made  some  directions  that  you 
might  finde  out  and  reade  them  immediately.  But  I 
beseech  you  ...  to  read  them  as  my  author  ment 
them,  to  breed  detestation  and  not  delectation,"  &c. 
And  he  then  appends  to  his  book  a  table,  by  means, 
of  which  the  gentle  readers  will  have  no  trouble  in 
finding  the  objectionable  passages  enumerated  in  the 
"  Apologie  "  itself. 

At  the  same  time  as  translations  proper,  many 
Imitations  were  published,  especially  imitations  of 
those  shorter  prose  stories  which  were  so  numerous- 
on  the  continent,  and  which  had  never  been  properly 
acclimatized  in  England  during  the  Middle  Ages.  Their 
introduction  into  this  country  had  a  great  influence  on 
the  further  development  of  the  novel  ;  their  success 
showed  that  there  was  a  public  for  such  literature  ; 
hence  the  writing  of  original  tales  of  this  sort  in 
English.  Among  collections  of  foreign  tales  trans- 
lated or  imitated  may  be  quoted  Paynter's  ''  Palace 
of  Pleasure,"  1566,1  containing  histories  from  Boc- 
caccio, Bandello,  Ser  Giovanni  Fiorentino,  Straparole, 
the  Spaniard  Guevara,  the  Queen  of  Navarre,  "  and 
other  italian  and  french  authours."  One  of  them  is 
the  history  of  ''  Rhomeo  and  lulietta,"  from  which 
Shakespeare  derived  his  immortal  drama  ;  another  tale 
in  the  same  collection  supplied  the  plot  of  "  All's 
Well,"  and  another  the  main  events  of  "  Measure  for 
Measure."     Then   came  G.  Fenton's  "  Tragicall  Dis- 

^  Old  Style.     The  dedication  is   dated  :  "  Nere  the  Tower  of 
London  the  first  of  Januaric  1566." 


TUDOR  TIMES,  FASHIONS  AND  THE  NOVEL.    8i 

courses,"  1567,  finished  at  Paris  and  published  by  the 
author  as  the  first-fruits  of  his  travels ;  T.  Fortescue's 
*'  Foreste  or  collection  of  histories  .  .  .  done  out  of 
French,"  1571  ;  George  Pettie's  "  Pettie  Pallace  of 
Pettie  his  pleasure,"  1576  ;  Robert  Smyth's  "  Straunge  \ 
and  tragicall  histories  translated  out  of  french,"  1577  ;  / 
Barnabe  Rich's  '*  Farewell  to  militarie  profession," 
1584,  where  Shakespeare  found  the  plot  of  "Twelfth 
Night "  ;  G.  Whetstone's  "  Heptameron  of  civill 
discourses,"  1582;  Ed.  Grimeston's  translation  of  the 
"  Admirable  and  memorable  histories "  of  Goulart, 
1607,  and  several  others. 

Besides  such  collections  many  stories  were  separately 
translated  and  widely  circulated.  A  number  have  been 
lost,  but  some  remain,  such,  for  instance,  as  "  The  ad- 
ventures passed  by  Master  F.  I.,"  adapted  by  Gascoigne 
from  the  Italian, ^  or  a  certain  ''  Hystorie  of  Hamblet," 
1608,2  which  was  destined  to  have  great  importance  ^ 
in  English  literature,  or  the  ''  Goodli  history  of  the 
.  .  .  Ladye  Lucres  of  Scene  in  Tuskane  and'  of  her 
lover  Eurialus,"  a  translation  from  the  Latin  of  ^neas 
Sylvius  Piccolomini,  and  one  of  the  most  popular  novels 
of  the  time.  It  went  through  twenty-three  editions  in 
the  fifteenth  century,  and  was  eight  times  translated, 
one  of  the  French  translations  being  made  "  a  la  priere 

^  First  published  in  Gascoigne's  "  Hundrcth  sundric  flowres 
bound  up  in  one  small  poesie,"  London,  1572,  4to. 

-  Translated  from  the  French  of  Belleforest,  who  had  himself 
translated  it  from  Bandello.  Though  the  date  of  the  only  known 
edition  of  the  story  in  English  is  later  than  the  production  of 
"  Hamlet,"  it  seems  to  have  been  known  before,  and  to  have  been 
used  by  Shakespeare.    See  Furnivall's  "Leopold  Shakspere,"  p.  Ixix. 


82 


THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL, 


et  requeste  des  dames."  A  German  translation  by 
Nicolaus  von  Wyle  is  embellished  with  coloured  wood- 
cuts of  the  most  naive  and  amusing  description.  Three 
English  translations  were  published,  one  before  1550, 
another  in  1669,  and  a  third  in  1741.^ 

It  is  a  tale  of  unlawflil  love,  and  tells  how  Lucrece 
a  married  lady  of  Sienna,  fell  in   love  with  Eurialus, 


THE   KNIGHT   EURIALUS   GETTING   SECRETLY    INTO   HIS   LADY-I.OVE's 
CHAMBER,    1477. 


a  knight  of  the  court  of  the  Emperor  Sigismond. 
It  isj  we  are  told,  a  story  of  real  life  under  fictitious 
names.  The  dialogue  is  easy,  vigorous,  and  passionate, 
and  the  translator  has   well  succeeded  in  transmuting 

^  "  The  historic  of  .  i  .  Plasidas  and  other  rare  pieces,"  ed.  H. 
H.  Gibbs,  Roxburghc  Club,  London,  1873,  4to.  One  of  these 
"  pieces,"  prefaced  with  an  important  introduction,  is  the  "  Goodli 
history  *'  of  Lady  Lucrece. 


TUDOR  TIMES,  FASHIONS  AND  THE  NOVEL,    %z 

these  qualities  into  His  yet  unbroken  mother  tongue. 
Here,  for  instance,  Lucrece  is  discussing  with  the 
faithful  Zosias  the  subject  of  her  love. 

"  Houlde  thy  peace  quod  Lucrece,  there  is  no  feare 
at  all.     Nothynge  he  feareth  that  feareth  not  death.  .  . 

"  Oh  !  unhappie  quod  Zosias,  thou  shalt  shame  thy 
house,  and  onlye  of  all  thy  kynne  thou  shake  be  adul- 
teresse.  Thinkest  thou  the  deede  can  be  secreate }  A 
thousand  eyne  are  about  thee.  Thy  mother,  if  shee  do 
accordinge,  shall  not  suffer  thy  outrage  to  be  prevye, 
not  thy  husbande,  not  thy  cousyns,  not  thy  maidens, 
ye,  and  thoughe  thy  servauntes  woulde  holde  theyr 
peace,  the  bestes  would  speake  it,  y^  dogges,  the  poostes 
and  the  marble  stones,  and  thoughe  thou  hyde  all,  thou 
canste  not  hyde  it  from  God  that  seeth  all.   .   . 

"  I  knowe  quod  she  it  is  accordinge  as  thou  sayest, 
but  the  rage  maketh  me  folow  the  worse.  My  mynde 
knoweth  howe  I  fall  hedling,  but  furour  hath  overcom 
and  reygneth,  and  over  all  my  thought  ruleth  love.  I 
am  determined  to  folow  the  commandement  of  love. 
Overmuche  alas  have  I  wrestled  in  vaine  ;  if  thou  have 
pytie  on  me,  carye  my  mesage."  i 

If  the  German  translation  was  adorned  with  wood- 
cuts, the  English  text  had  an  embellishment  of  a  greater 
value  ;  it  consisted  in  the  conclusion  of  the  tale  as 
altered  by  the  English  writer.  In  the  Latin  original 
of  the  future  pope,  Pius  II.,  Lucrece  dies,  and 
Eurialus,  having  followed  the  Emperor  back  to 
Germany,  mourns  for  her  **  till  the  time  when  Cassar 
married  him  to  a  virgin  of  a  ducal  house  not  less 
beautiful  than  chaste  and  wise,"  a  very  common-place 
^   JJt  supra,  p.  119. 


84  THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL. 

way  of  mourning  for  a  dead  mistress.  This  seemed 
insufferable  to  the  English  translator.  Faithful  as  he 
is  throughout,  he  would  not  take  upon  himself  to 
alter  actual  facts,  yet  he  thought  right  to  give  a 
different  account  of  his  hero's  feelings :  "  But  lyke  as 
he  folowed  the  Emperoure  so  dyd  Lucres  folow  hym 
in  hys  sleep  and  suffred  hym  no  nygtes  rest,  whom 
when  he  knew  hys  true  lover  to  be  deed,  meaved  by 
extreme  dolour,  clothed  him  in  mournynge  apparell, 
and  utterly  excluded  all  comforte,  and  yet  though  the 
Emperoure  gave  hym  in  manage  a  ryghte  noble  and 
excellente  Ladye,  yet  he  never  enjoyed  after,  but  in 
conclusyon  pitifully  wasted  his  palnRil  lyfe."  ^ 

The  greater  the  display  of  feeling  in  such  tales  of 
Italian  origin,  the  bitterer  were  the  denunciations  of 
moral  censors,  and  the  greater  at  the  same  time  their 
popularity  with  the  public.  The  quarrel  did  not  abate 
_for  one  minute  during  the  whole  of  the  century  ;  the 
period  is  filled  with  condemnations  of  novels,  dramas 
and  poems,  answered  by  no  less  numerous  apologies  for 
the  same.  The  quarrel  went  on  even  beyond  the 
century,  the  adverse  parties  meeting  with  various 
success  as  Cromwell  ruled  or  Charles  reigned  ;  it  can 

^  Here  is  Piccolomini's  text:  "  Sed  ut  ipse  C^sarem,  sic  eum 
Lucretia  sequebatur  in  somnis,  nullamque  noctem  sibi  quietam 
permittebat.  Quam  ut  obiisse  verus  amator  cognovit,  magno  dolorc 
pcrmotus,  lugubrem  vestem  recepit ;  nee  consolationem  admisit, 
nisi  postquam  Caesar  ex  ducalo  sanguine  virginem  sibi  cum  formo- 
sam  turn  castissimam  atque  prudcntem  matrimonio  junxit."  The 
French  translator  did  not  alter  this  end.  It  will  be  remembered 
that  the  conclusion  of  Chaucer's  "  Troilus  "  compares  in  the  same 
way  with  Boccaccio's  and  with  the  French  translator's,  Pierre  do 
Bcauveau. 


TUDOR  TIMES,  FASHIONS  AND  THE  NOVEL.    S5 

scarcely  be  said  to  have  ever  been  entirely  dropped,  and 
the  very  same  arguments  used  by  Ascham  against  the 
Italian  books  of  his  time  are  daily  resorted  to  against 
the  French  books  of  our  own  age. 

Be  this  as  it  may,  the  Italian  novels  had  the  better  of 
it  in  Elizabethan  times  ;  they  were  found  not  only  "  in 
every  shop,"  but  in  every  house  ;  translations  of  them 
were  the  daily  reading  of  Shakespeare,  and  as  they  had 
an  immense  influence  not  only  in  emancipating  the 
genius  of  the  dramatists  of  the  period,  but,  what  was  of 
equal  importance,  in  preparing  an  audience  for  them, 
we  may  be  permitted  to  look  at  them  with  a  more 
indulgent  eye  than  the  pre-Shakespearean  moralists. 

A  curious  list  of  books,  belonging  during  this  same 
period  (1575)  to  a  man  of  the  lower  middle  class,  an 
average  member  of  a  Shakespearean  audience,  has  been 
preserved  for  us.  It  is  to  be  found  in  a  very  quaint 
account  of  the  Kenilworth  festivities,  sent  by  Robert 
Laneham,  a  London  mercer,  to  a  brother  mercer  of  the 
same  city.  Laneham  states  how  an  acquaintance  of 
his.  Captain  Cox,  a  mason  by  trade,  had  in  his  posses- 
sion, not  only  "  Kyng  Arthurz  book,  Huon  of 
Burdeaus,  The  foour  suns  of  Aymon,  Bevis  of 
Hampton,"  and  many  of  those  popular  romances,  illus- 
trated with  woodcuts  of  which  a  few  specimens  are  to 
be  seen  above,  but  also,  mason  as  he  was,  the  very 
same  Italian  book,  the  "  Lucres  and  Eurialus,"  of  which 
we  have  just  given  an  account. ^ 

With    the   diffusion   of  these  small  handy   volumes 

^  "Captain  Cox,  his  ballads  and  books,  or  Robert  Laneham's 
Letter  .  .  .  1575,"  ed.  F.  J.  Furnivall,  London,  Ballad  Society,. 
1871,  8vo,  p.  29. 


36  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

of  tales  of  all  kinds,  from  all  countries,  a  quite 
modern  sort  of  literature,  a  literature  for  travellers, 
was  being  set  on  foot.  Manuscript  books  did  not 
easily  lend  themselves  to  be  carried  about  ;  but  it 
was  otherwise  with  the  printed  pamphlets.  Authors 
began  to  recommend  their  productions  as  convenient 
travelling  companions,  very  much  in  the  same  manner 
as  the  publishers  recommend  them  now  as  suitable  to 
be  taken  to  the  Alps  or  to  the  seaside.  Paynter,  for 
example,  who  circulated  in  England  from  the  year 
1566  his  collection  of  tales  translated  or  imitated  from 
Boccaccio  and  Bandello,  Apuleius  and  Xenophon,  the 
Queen  of  Navarre,  and  Bonaventure  Desperriers,  Belle- 
forest  and  Froissart,  Guevara  and  many  others,  assures 
his  reader  that  :  *'Pleasauntthey  be  for  that  they  recreate, 
and  refreshe  weried  mindes  defatigated  either  with 
painefull  travaile  or  with  continuall  care,  occasioning 
them  to  shunne  and  to  avoid  heavinesse  of  minde, 
vaine  fantasies  and  idle  cogitations.  Pleasaunt  so  well 
abroad  as  at  home,  to  avoide  the  griefe  of  winters 
night  and  length  of  sommers  day,  which  the  travailers 
on  foote  may  use  for  a  staye  to  ease  their  weried  bodye, 
and  the  journeours  on  horsback,  for  a  chariot  or  lesse 
painful  meane  of  travaile  in  steade  of  a  merie  companion 
to  shorten  the  tedious  toyle  of  wearie  wayes."  ^ 

It  is  pleasant  to  think  of  Shakespeare  in  some 
journey  from  Stratford  to  London,  sitting  under  a 
tree,  and  in  order  to  forget  "  the  tedious  toyle  of 
wearie  wayes,"  taking  out  of  his  pocket  Paynter*s 
book  to  dream  of  future  Romeos  and  possible  Helenas. 

^  Epistle  to  the  reader,  prefacing  the  "  Palace  of  Pleasure." 


TUDOR  TIMES,  FASHIONS  AND  THE  NOVEL.    87 

III. 

The  Italian  and  French  languages  were  held  in  great 
honour  ;  both  were  taught  at  Oxford  and  Cambridge  ; 
the  latter  especially  was  of  common  use  in  England, 
and  this  peculiarity  attracted  the  notice  of  foreigners.. 
"  As  regards  their  manners  and  mode  of  living,  orna- 
ments, garments  and  vestments,"  writes  the  Greek 
Nicander  Nucius,  in  1545,  *'they  resemble  the  French 
more  than  others,  and,  for  the  most  part,  they  use 
their  language."  ^  But  besides  these  elegant  languages, 
Greek  and  Latin  were  becoming  courtly.  They  were 
taught  in  the  schools  and  out  of  the  schools ;  the 
nobles,  following  the  example  of  King  Henry  VI 11. 
and  his  children,  made  a  parade  of  their  knowledge. 
Ignorance  was  no  longer  the  fashion,  no  more  than 
the  old  towers  without  windows.  The  grave  Erasmus- 
went  to  hear  Colet,  the  Dean  of  St.  Paul's,  and  "he 
thought  he  was  hearing  Plato  "  ;  Sir  T.  More,  accord- 
ing to  Erasmus,  is  the  "  sweetest,  softest,  happiest 
genius  nature  has  ever  shaped."  In  a  word,  "  literature 
is  triumphant  among  the  English.  The  king  himself, 
the  two  cardinals,  almost  all  the  bishops,  favour  with 
all  their  soul  and  adorn  Letters."  2  To  learn  Greek 
and  Latin  was  to  move  with  the  times  and  to  follow 
the  fashion.  "  All  men,"  says  Ascham,  less  displeased 
with  this  novelty  than  with  the  travelling  propensities 

^  That  there  was  also  in  London  a  public  for  Italian  books  is 
shown,  among  many  other  proofs,  by  the  early  publication  thereof 
an  edition  of  the  "  Pastor  Fido"  of  Guarini  in  the  original,  London, 
1591,  i2mo. 

2  "Epistolarum  .  .  .  libri  xxxi.,"  London,  1642,  fol.,  col.  308, 
533,  364,  &c.     A.D.  1497  and  15 19. 


88  THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL. 

of  his  compatriots,  '^  covet  to  have  their  children  speake 
latin  "  ;  and  '*  Sophocles  and  Euripides  are  more  familiar 
now  here  than  Plautus  was  formerly."  i  Dazzled  by  what 
he  saw  and  heard,  Erasmus  was  announcing  to  the  world 
in  enthusiastic  letters  that  "  the  golden  age  "  was  to  be 
born  again  in  this  fortunate  island. ^  His  only  regret 
was  that  he  would  perhaps  not  live  long  enough  to  see 
it.  Well  might  he  regret  it,  even  though  it  were  not 
to  follow  exactly  as  he  had  foreseen  ;  for  the  golden 
apple  of  the  golden  age  was  not  to  be  plucked  in  the 
Greek  Hesperides'  garden,  but  in  a  plain  Warwickshire 
orchard  :   nor  was  it  the  less  golden. 

This  fermentation  of  mind  lasted  for  more  than  a 
century  ;  lives  were  often  shortened  by  it,  but  they  had 
been  doubly  well  filled.  From  this  restless  curiosity, 
bent  towards  past  ages  and  foreign  countries,  towards 
everything  that  was  remote,  unknown  and  different, 
•came  that  striking  appearance  of  omniscience  and  uni- 
versality, and  that  prodigious  wealth  of  imagery,  allu- 
sions and  ideas  of  every  kind  that  are  to  be  found  in 
all  the  authors  of  that  time,  small  as  well  as  great,  and 
which  unites  in  one  common  bond  Rabelais  and  Shake- 
speare, Cervantes  and  Sidney  and  the  "  master  of  the 
enchanters  of  the  ear,"  Ronsard. 

When  the  armour,  worn  less  often,  began  to  grow 
rusty  in  the  great  halls,  and  the  nobles,  coming  forth 

^  "  The  Scholemaster,"  p.  2,  and  Letter  to  Brandesby  (in 
Latin),  1542-3  ;  "Works,"  ed.  Giles,  torn.  i.  p.  25. 

2  "  Equidem  aureum  quoddam  seculum  exoriri  video,  quo  mihi 
fortassis  non  continget  frui,  quippe  qui  jam  ad  fabulae  meae  cata- 
;strophem  accedam"  (Letter  to  Henry  of  Guildford,  May,  1519, 
"  Epistolarum  .   .  .  libri  xxxi.,"  London,  1642,^0!.,  col.  368). 


TUDOR  TIMES,  FASHIONS  AND  THE  NOVEL    89 

from  their  coats-of-mail  like  the  butterfly  from  the 
chrysalis,  showed  themselves  all  glistening  in  silk,  pearls 
in  their  ears,  their  heads  full  of  Italian  madrigals  and 
mythological  similes,  a  new  society  was  formed,  salons 
of  a  kind  were  organized,  and  the  role  of  the  women 
was  enlarged.  English  mediaeval  times  had  been  by  no 
means  sparing  of  compliments  to  them.  But  there  is  a 
great  difference  between  celebrating  in  verse  fair,  slim- 
necked  ladies,  and  writing  books  expressly  for  them  : 
and  it  is  one  of  the  points  in  which,  during  the  Middle 
Ages  and  even  until  the  middle  of  the  sixteenth  century, 
England  differed  from  the  nations  of  the  south.  In 
England  no  Lady  Oisille  had  gathered  round  her  in  the 
depth  of  green  valleys  tellers  of  amorous  stories  ;  no 
thickly-shaded  parks  had  seen  Fiammettas  or  Philomenas 
listening  to  all  kinds  of  narratives,  forgetful  of  the 
actual  world  and  its  sorrows.  The  only  group  of 
story-tellers,  bound  together  by  a  true  artist's  fancy, 
Chaucer's  pilgrims,  had  ridden  in  broad  davlight  on 
the  high  road  to  Canterbury,  led  by  Harry  Bailly,  the 
jovial  innkeeper  of  South wark,  a  blustering,  red-faced 
dictator,  who  had  regulated  the  pace  of  the  nags,  and 
silenced  the  tedious  babblers  :  very  different  in  all 
things  from  Fiammetta  and  the  Lady  Oisille. 

Under  the  influence  of  Italy,  France  and  mythology,    v^ 
the  England  of  the  Tudors,  changed  all  that.     Women 
appeared  in   the  foreground  :  a  movement  of  general    y- 
curiosity  animated  the  age,  and  they  participated  in  it    ^ 
quite  naturally.     They  will  become  learned,  if  neces- 
sary, rather  than   remain  in  the  shade ;  they   will   no 
longer  rest  contented  with   permission  to  read   books 
written  for  their  fathers,  brothers,  lovers,  or  husbands  ; 


90  THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL, 

some  must  be  written  especially  on  their  account, 
consulting  their  preferences  and  personal  caprices  ;  and 
they  had  good  reason  to  command  :  one  of  them  sat 
on  the  throne. 

They,  too,  began  to  read  Greek,  Latin,  Italian  and 
French ;  knowledge  was  so  much  the  fashion  that  it 
extended  to  women.  Here  Ascham  bears  testimony 
in  their  favour ;  the  Queen  herself  gives  the  example  : 
"She  readeth  now  at  Windsore  more  Greeke  every 
day  than  some  prebendarie  of  this  chirch  doth  read 
Latin  in  a  wole  weeke."  ^  In  this  she  has  innumerable 
imitators,  so  much  so  that  Harrison  sums  up  as  follows 
his  judgment  concerning  EngHsh  ladies  :  "  To  saie 
how  many  gentlewomen  and  ladies  there  are,  that 
beside  sound  knowledge  of  the  Greeke  and  Latin 
toongs  are  thereto  no  lesse  skilfull  in  the  Spanish, 
Italian  and  French  or  in  some  one  of  them,  it  resteth 
not  in  me."  2 

It  must  not  be  believed,  however,  that  so  much 
Greek  and  Latin  in  any  way  imperilled  the  grace  and 
ease  of  their  manners,  or  that  when  you  met  them  you 
would  be  welcomed  with  a  quotation  from  Plato  and 
dismissed  with  a  verse  from  Virgil.  Far  from  it.  It 
was  the  custom  at  that  time  with  English  ladies  to 
greet  their  friends  and  relations,  and  even  strangers, 
with  kisses,  and  strange  as  it  may  appear  to  our 
modern  ideas,  accustomed  as  we  are  to  stare  in  amaze- 
ment at  such  practices  when  by  any  chance  we  observe 
them  in  southern  countries,  the  custom  was  so  strikingly 

^  "The  Scholemaster,"  p.  21.  ■ 

2  "Description    of  Britaine,"   1577,  ed.  Furnivall,  New  Shak-   ■ 

spcre  Society,  part  i,  p.  271. 


i 


TUDOR  TIMES,  FASHIONS  AND  THE  NOVEL    91 

prevalent  in  England  that  travellers  noticed  it  as  one  of 
the  strange  sights  of  the  land  ;  grave  Erasmus  cyni- 
cally calls  it  one  of  its  attractions.  "This  custom,"  says 
he,  "  will  never  be  praised  enough."  ^  The  above-named 
Nicander  Nucius,  of  Corcyra,  who  came  to  England 
some  fifty  years  later,  notices  the  same  habit  as  a 
great  local  curiosity.  According  to  him,  the  English 
'^display  great  simplicity  and  absence  of  jealousy  in 
their  usages  towards  females.  For  not  only  do  those 
who  are  of  the  same  family  and  household  kiss  them 
.  .  .  with  salutations  and  embraces,  but  even  those, 
too,  who  have  never  seen  them.  And  to  themselves 
this  appears  by  no  means  indecent."  -  The  very  Queen 
herself,  even  in  the  middle  of  the  most  imposing  cere- 
monies, could  not  help  indulging  in  familiarities  contrary 
to  our  ideas  of  decorum,  but  quite  in  accordance  with 
the  freedom  of  manners  then  prevalent.  Sir  James 
Melville  relates  in  his  memoirs  how  he  was  present 
when  Robert  Dudley  was  made  '^  Earl  of  Leicester  and 
baron  of  Denbigh  ;  which  was  done  at  Westminster 
with  great  solemnity,  the  Queen  herself  helping  to  put 
on  his  ceremonial,  he  sitting  upon  his  knees  before  her 
with  a  great  gravity.  But  she  could  not  refrain  from 
putting  her  hand  in  his  neck,  smilingly  tickling  him, 

^  "  Est  praeterea  mos  nunquam  satis  laudatus.  Sive  quo  venias 
omnium  osculis  exciperis ;  sive  discedas  aliquo,  osculis  dimitteris; 
redis,  redduntur  suavia  .  .  .  denique  quocumque  te  moveas,  sua- 
viorum  plena  sunt  omnia "  ("  Epistolarum  .  .  ,  libri.,"  London, 
1642,  col.  315,  A.D.  1499). 

2  "The  second  book  of  the  travels  of  Nicander  Nucius,"  ed. 
Cramer,  London,  Camden  Society,  1841,  4to,  p.  10.  Nucius 
resided  in  England  in  1545-6.  \ 

6  I 


92  THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL, 

the   French  Ambassadour  and   I   standnig  by.     Then 
she  turned,  asking  at  me,  ^  how  I  Hked  him  ? '"  i 

The    earliest  attempts  at  the  novel  in  the  modern 
style  bore  a  resemblance  to  these  social  and  intellectual 
manners.       Let    us  not    be    surprised    if   these    works 
are  too  heavily  bedizened  for  our  liking  :  the  toilettes 
and    fashions    of    that    time    were    less    sober     than 
those    of   to-day;    it    was    the    same    with    literature. 
/Queen   Elizabeth,   who    was  wholly    representative    of 
/  her  age,  and  shared    even    its    follies,   liked    and   en- 
Vcouraged  finery  in  everything.     All  that  was  ornament 
and  pageantry  held    her  favour  ;    in  spite    of   public 
affairs,    she  remained   all    her    life    the    most  feminine 
of  women ;    on   her  gowns,  in  her  palaces,   with   her 
poets,    she    liked    to    find    ornaments    and    embellish- 
ments in    profusion.      The    learned    queen    who    read 
Plutarch   in  Greek,   a  thing   Shakespeare  could  never 
do,   and  translated    Boetius  into  English,-    found,   in 
spite  of  her  philosophy,  an  immense  delight  in  having 
herself  painted  in  fantastic  costumes,  her  thin  person 
hidden  in  a  silken  sheath,  covered  by  a  light  gauze,  over 
which  birds  ran.     Around  her  was  a  perpetual  field  of 
cloth  of  gold,  and  the  nobles  sold  their  lands  in  order 
to    appear   at    Court    sufficiently    embroidered.      She 
liked  nothing   better  than  to    hear  and  take    part    in 
conversations    on  dresses   and  fashions.     This  was    so 
well  known,  that  when   Mary,  Queen    of  Scots,  sent 
the  same    Sir   James    Melville    on  his  mission  to  the 
'  "  The  Memoires  of  Sir  James  Melvil,  of"  Hal-hill,"  ed.  G.  Scott, 
London,  1683,  fol.  p.  47. 

2  The  autograph  manuscript  of  her  translations,  which  comprise 
a  part  of  the  works  of  Plutarch,  Horace  and  Boetius,  was  found  in 
1883,  at  the  Record  Office. 


TUDOR  TIMES,  FASHIONS  AND  THE  NOVEL.    93 

English  Court,  in  1564,  she  was  careful  to  advise  him 
not  to  forget  such  means  to  propitiate  her  "  dear  sister/' 
The  account  left  by  Melville  of  the  way  in  which  he 
carried  into  effect  this  part  of  his  instructions  is  highly 
characteristic  of  the  times,  and  gives  an  idea  of  the  way 
in  which  a  courtly  conversation  was  then  conducted  : 

'^  The  Queen  my  mistress,"  says  Melville,  in  his 
"  Memoires,"  '^  had  instructed  me  to  leave  matters  of 
gravity  sometimes,  and  cast  in  merry  purposes,  lest 
otherwise  I  should  be  wearied  [wearying],  she  being 
well  informed  of  that  queens  natural  temper.  There- 
fore in  declaring  my  observations  of  the  customs  of 
Dutchland,  Poland  and  Italy,  the  buskins  of  the  women 
was  not  forgot,  and  what  countrey  weed  I  thought  best 
becoming  gentlewomen.  The  Queen  said  she  had  cloths 
of  every  sort,  which  eveiy  day  thereafter,  so  long  as  I 
was  there,  she  changed.  One  day  she  had  the  English 
weed,  another  the  French,  and  another  the  Italian  and 
so  forth. 

"  She  asked  me  which  of  them  became  her  best } 

"  I  answered,  in  my  judgment  the  Italian  dress, 
which  answer  I  found  pleased  her  well,  for  she  de- 
lighted to  shew  her  golden  coloured  hair,  wearing  a 
caul  and  bonnet  as  they  do  in  Italy.  Her  hair  was  more 
reddish  than  yellow,  curled  in  appearance  naturally. 

"  She  desired  to  know  of  me  what  colour  of  hair  was 
reputed  best,  and  which  of  them  two  was  fairest. 

'^  I  answered  the  fairness  of  them  both  was  not  their 
worst  faults. 

*'  But  she  was  earnest  with  me  to  declare  which  of 
them  I  judged  fairest  ? 

"  I  said  she  was  the  fairest  Queen  of  England,  and 
mine  the  fairest  Queen  of  Scotland. 


94  ^  THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL. 

"  Yet  she  appeared  earnest. 

"  I  answered  they  were  both  the  fairest  Ladies  in 
their  countries  ;  that  Her  Majesty  was  whiter,  but  my 
Queen  was  very  lovely. 

"  She  inquired  which  of  them  was  of  highest  stature? 

"  I  said  my  Queen. 

"  Then  saith  she,  she  is  too  high,  for  I,  my  self,  am 
neither  too  high  nor  too  low.  Then  she  asked  what 
kind  of  exercise  she  used  } 

"  I  answered  that  when  I  received  my  dispatch,  the 
Queen  was  lately  come  from  the  High-land  hunting. 
That  when  her  more  serious  affairs  permitted,  she  was 
taken  up  with  reading  of  histories  ;  that  sometimes  she 
recreated  her  self  in  playing  upon  the  lute  and  virginals. 

''  She  asked  if  she  played  well }  I  said  reasonably, 
for  a  Queen. 

"  That  same  day  after  dinner  my  Lord  of  Huns- 
dean  drew  me  up  to  a  quiet  gallery,  that  1  might  hear 
some  musick,  but  he  said  that  he  durst  not  avow  it,, 
where  I  might  hear  the  Queen  play,  upon  the  virginals. 
After  I  had  hearkned  a  while,  I  took  up  the  tapistry 
that  hung  before  the  door  of  the  chamber,  and  seeing 
her  back  was  toward  the  door,  I  entered  within  the 
chamber,  and  stood  a  pretty  space  hearing  her  play 
excellently  well,  but  she  left  off  immediately,  so  soon 
as  she  turned  her  about  and  saw  me.  She  appeared  to  be 
surprized  to  see  me,  and  came  forward,  seeming  to  strike 
me  with  her  hand,  alledging  she  used  not  to  play  before 
men,  but  when  she  was  solitary  to  shun  melancholly." 

Fortunately  she  does  not  strike  the  ambassador,  and 
is  easily  pacified.  She  wants  to  dazzle  him  also  with 
her  knowledge  of  languages  : 


TUDOR  TIMES,  FASHIONS  AND  THE  NOVEL.  95 

"  She  said  my  French  was  good,  and  asked  if  I  could 
speak  Italian  which  she  spoke  reasonably  well.  .  .  . 
Then  she  spake  to  me  in  Dutch  [i.^.,  German],  which 
was  not  good ;  and  would  know  what  kind  of  books  I 
most  delighted  in,  whether  theology,  history,  or  love 
matters."  She  manages  to  keep  Melville  two  days 
longer  than  he  had  intended  to  stay  "  till  I  might  see 
her  dance,  as  I  was  afterward  informed.  Which  being 
over,  she  inquired  of  me  whether  she  or  my  Queen 
danced  best  ?  I  answered  the  Queen  danced  not  so  high 
and  disposedly  as  she  did." 

This  woman,  nevertheless,  with  so  many  frailties  and 
ultra-feminine  vanities,  was  a  sovereign  with  a  will  and 
a  purpose.  Even  in  the  midst  of  this  talk  about 
buskins,  love-books  and  virginals,  it  shone  out.  So 
much  so,  that  hearing  she  is  resolved  not  to  marry, 
the  Scottish  ambassador  immediately  retorts  in  some- 
what blunt  fashion  :  '*  I  know  the  truth  of  that, 
madam,  said  I,  and  you  need  not  tell  it  me.  Your 
Majesty  thinks  if  you  were  married,  you  would  be 
but  Queen  of  England,  and  now  you  are  both  King 
and  Queen.  I  know  your  spirit  cannot  endure  a 
commander."  ^ 

The  same  singular  combination  may  be  observed  in  \ 
the  literary  works  of  her  time  :  flowers  of  speech  and    ^ 
vanities    abound,    but  they  are    not   without    an    aim.     \ 
Rarely  was  any  sovereign  so  completely  emblematic  of    \- 
his  or  her  period.     She  may  almost  be  said  to  be  the      j 
key  to  it  ;  and  it  may  be  very  well  asserted  that  what- 
ever the  branch  of  art  or  literature  of  this  epoch  you 
wish  to  understand,  you  must  first  study  Elizabeth. 
^   "  Mcmoires,"  London,  1683,  pp.  49  et  seq. 


96  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

Her  taste  for  finery  and  jewels  remained  to  the  last. 
Hentzner,  a  German,  who  saw  her  many  years  after 
Melville,  describes  her  coming  out  of  her  chapel  at 
Greenwich  Palace,  in  1598.  She  has  greatly  altered  ; 
she  is  no  longer  the  young  princess  that  would  publicly 
forget  etiquette  at  Westminster  for  the  sake  of  Robert 
Dudley  ;  but  she  still  glitters  with  jewels  and  orna- 
ments. "Next  came  the  Queen,  in  the  sixty-fifth  year 
of  her  age,  as  we  were  told,  very  majestic  ;  her  face 
oblong,  fair,  but  wrinkled,  her  eyes  small,  yet  black 
and  pleasant  ;  her  nose  a  little  hooked,  her  lips  narrow, 
and  her  teeth  black.  .  .  .  She  had  in  her  ears  two 
pearls,  with  very  rich  drops  ;  she  wore  false  hair  and 
that  red ;  upon  her  head  she  had  a  small  crown.  .  .  . 
Her  bosom  was  uncovered  as  all  the  English  ladies  have 
till  they  marry,  and  she  had  on  a  necklace  of  exceeding 
fine  jewels  ;  her  hands  were  small,  her  fingers  long,  and 
her  stature  neither  tall  nor  low  ;  her  air  was  stately,  her 
manner  of  speaking  kind  and  obliging.  That  day  she 
was  dressed  in  white  silk,  bordered  with  pearls  of  the 
size  of  beans,  and  over  it  a  mantle  of  black  silk,  shot 
with  silver  threads  .  .  .  Instead  of  a  chain,  she  had 
an  oblong  collar  of  gold  and  jewels."  ^ 

These  descriptions  of  her  by  Melville  and  Hentz- 
ner are  supplemented,  in  highly  characteristic  fashion, 
not  only  by  such  fancy  portraits  as  the  one  alluded 
to  before,  where  she  is  represented  as  a  shepherdess, 
a  nymph,  an  imaginary  being  from  Arcady,  from 
mythology,  or  from  nowhere,  but  by  such  grave,  digni- 
fied, official  portraitures  as  the  very  fine  engraving 
left  by  Rogers.      Round   the  sharp-featured  face,  with 

^  "Travels  in  England,"  ed.  H.  Morley,  London,  1889,  p.  47. 


QUEEN   CLEOPATRA,   AS   REPRESENTED   ON   THE   ENGLISH   STAGE 

IN   THE   EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY,  [/•  97- 


TUDOR  TIMES,  FASHIONS  AND  THE  NOVEL.    99 

closed,  wilful  lips,  weary  eyes,  open,  intelligent  forehead, 
lace  ruffs  of  various  shapes,  some  very  bushy,  some 
quite  flat  and  round-shaped  like  butterfly  wings,  are 
displayed  in  most  imposing  array.  No  imaginable 
kind  of  gum  or  starch  could  keep  them  straight  ;  they 
were  spread  on  iron  wires.  The  gown  itself,  of  cylin- 
dric  shape,  expanded  by  means  of  a  farthingale,  is 
covered  with  knobs,  knots,  pearls,  ribbons,  fringes,  and 
ornaments  of  all  sorts.  Well  does  this  figure  deserve 
the  attention  of  the  student  of  Shakespeare,  for  in 
thi's  and  no  other  fashion  was  Cleopatra,  the  Egyptian 
queen,  dressed,  when  she  appeared  on  the  boards 
of  the  Globe  Theatre.  Never  did  the  author  of 
"  Antony  "  dream  of  Denderah's  temple,  and  of  the  soft, 
voluptuous  face,  peacock-covered,  representing  there 
I  sis-Cleopatra  ;  but  he  dressed  his  Egyptian  queen  as 
the  queen  he  had  known  had  been  dressed,  and  it  was 
in  the  costumes  of  Rogers'  engraving,  and  most  appro- 
priately too,  that  the  Cleopatra  of  the  Globe  was  heard 
to  make  the  remarkable  proposal,  *'  Let's  to  billiards."  ^ 

Does  this  seem  very  strange  or  in  any  way  incredible  I 
But  we  must  remember  that  many  years,  nay,  several 
centuries,  were  to  elapse  before  anything  like  historical 
accuracy  was  to  afl^ect  dresses  on  the  stage.  Another 
Cleopatra  trod  the  boards  of  the  English  theatre  in  the 
eighteenth  century  ;  she  was  very  difl^erent  from  her 
Elizabethan  elder  sister ;  she  wore  paniers  and  a 
Louis  XV.  wig,  and,  as  may  be  seen  in  our  engraving, 
came  in  no  way  nearer  the  model  at  Denderah. 

The  architecture   of  this    period   corresponded  with 

^  *' Antony  and  Cleopatra,''  act  ii.  sc.  5.  As  for  a  reproduction 
ot  Rogers'  engraving,  sec  Frontispiece  of  this  volume. 


loo  THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL, 

the  richness  and  pomp  of  the  costumes.  A  new  style, 
partly  from  Italy,  partly  from  dreamland,  was  intro- 
duced into  England  during  the  Tudor  and  early 
Jacobean  times.  There  was  lace,  and  knots  and  knobs 
and  curious  holes,  pillars,  and  pilasters.  The  sincerest 
admirers  of  antiquity,  such  as  Inigo  Jones,  who  went 
to  Italy  with  such  good  purpose,  and  there  filled  his 
albums  with  many  exquisite  sketches  of  antique  and 
Renaissance  masterpieces, ^  could  not  refrain  from  some- 
times introducing  Arcady  and  dreamland  into  their 
architecture.      Inigo  Jones    died    before    finishing   his 

Whitehall  palace,  and  we 
know  from  his  drawings 
that  he  intended  to  em- 
bellish the  central  circular 
court  with  a  row  of  gigan- 
^y^  ^v  tic  caryatides  representing 
^#   f ^ /^  Persians,  six  or  seven  yards 

4  ,    i^(^       high.-       A     contriver     of 


'Mt 


masks  for  the  Court,  Inigo 

SKETCHES   MADE  BY   INIGO  t  •  1.  * 

JONES  IN  ITALY.  Jones,    was     m    this    way 

tempted    to    build  palaces, 

if   one    may    say  so,    in    mask-style.      Such  houses  as 

'  An  album  of  sketches  of  this  sort,  made  by  Inigo  Jones  while 
in  Italy,  1614,  was  reproduced  in  fac-simile  by  the  care  of  the 
Duke  of  Devonshire,  London,  1832.  See  also  drawings,  by  the 
same,  for  scenery  and  costumes  in  masks  in  the  "  Portfolio,"  May, 
June,  and  July,  1889,  three  articles  by  Mr.  R.  T.  Blomfield. 
Isaac  Oliver  the  famous  Elizabethan  miniature  painter,  has  left 
also  drawings,  one  of  which  is  reproduced  at  the  head  of  this 
chapter,  testifying  to  his  careful  study  of  Italian  models. 

2  A  view  of  this  court,  with  the  caryatides,  is  to  be  seen  in  W. 
Kent,  "The  Designs  of  Inigo  Jones,"  London,  1835,  two  vol.  fol. 
We  give  a  reproduction  of  the  caryatides. 


TUDOR  TIMES,  FASHIONS  AND  THE  NOVEL.    loi 

Audley  End,  Hatfield,  and  especially  Burghley,  this 
last  being  mostly  Elizabethan,  ^  are  excellent  repre- 
sentations of  the  architectural  tastes  of  the  time ;  the 
thick  windowless  towers  of  a  former  age  are  replaced  ^^ 
by  palatial  facades,  where  countless  enormous  windows 
occupy  more  space  in  the  wall  than  the  bricks  and  stones 
themselves.  Not  a  few  people  of  a  conservative  turn 
of  mind  were  heard  to  grumble  at  these  novelties  : 
"And  albeit,"  said  Harrison,  in  1577,  at  the  very  time 
when  Lord  Burghley  was  busy  building  his  house  in 
Northamptonshire,  '^  that  in  these  daies  there  be  manie 


r 


INIGO  JONES'S    PERSIANS   STANDING    AS    CARYATIDES. 

goodlie  houses  erected  in  the  sundrie  quarters  of  this 
Hand  ;  yet  they  are  rather  curious  to  the  eie,  like  paper 
worke  than  substantiall  for  continuance ;  whereas  such 
as  he  [Henry  VIIL]  did  set  up,  excel  in  both  and 
therefore  may  justlie  be  preferred  farre  above  all  the 
rest."     But   notwithstanding  such  a   threatening    pro- 

^  It  was  built  on  the  plans,  as  is  supposed,  of  J.  Thorpe,  possibly 
with  the  help  of  the  Italian  John  of  Padua.  Above  one  of  the 
doors  of  the  inner  court  is  the  date  1577  ;  the  clock  tower  is  dated 


15815  ;    see   the   engraving    p.    69.      Hatfield    bears   on 
the  date  161 1.     Audley  End  was  built  1603-1616. 


Its 


fa^ad 


102 


THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL. 


phecy  neither  at  Burghley  nor  at  Hatfield  has  the 
"  paper  worke "  put  there  been  yet  blown  away  by 
storm  or  time,  and  these  houses  continue  to  afford 
a  safe  residence  to  the  descendants  of  the  Cecils. 
According  to  Harrison's  judgment  the  interior  of  the 
new  houses,  no  less  than  the  exterior,  testified  to  a 
decadence  :  "  Now  have  we  manie  chimnies  ;  and  yet 
our  tenderlings  complaine  of  rheumes,  catarhs  and 
poses.  Then  had  we  none  but  reredosses  ;  and  our 
heads  did  never  ake.  For  as  the  smoke  in  those  daies 
was  supposed  to  be  a  sufficient  hardening  of  the  timber 
of  the  house,  so  it  was  reputed  a  far  better  medicine 
to  keepe  the  goodman  and  his  familie  from  the  quacke 
or  pose,  wherewith,  as  then  verie  few  were  acquainted."  ^ 
But  Harrison's  blame  does  not  seem  to  have  greatly 
affected  the  taste  for  chimneys,  any  more  than  his 
sinister  prophecies  concerning  Elizabethan  houses  have 
been  fulfilled ;  chimneys  have  continued,  and  paper-work 
houses  remain  still  to  help  us  if  need  be  to  understand 
the  poetry,  the  drama,  and  the  novel  of  the  period. 

^  "Description   of   Britaine,"   ed.    Furnivall,   New    Shakspere 
Society,  part  i.  pp.  268  and  338. 


TT  Of    THE  ' 

XJNIVEBSITY 


Helio6Dujardin  Imp  Wntmann  Pans 

QUEEN    ELIZABETH 

from    (he    portrctil     at    Hanuiton     Court 


A    DRAGON,    ACCORDING    TO   TOPSEI.L,    1608. 


CHAPTER  111. 


LYLY    AND     HIS    *'EUl»HUES. 


I. 


THE  romance  which,  at  this  period,  received  a  new 
life,  and  was  to  come  nearer  to  our  novels  than 
anything  that  had  gone  before,  has  many  traits  in 
common  with  the  fanciful  style  of  the  architecture,  cos- 
tume, and  conversation  described  above.  What  have 
we  to  do,  thought  men,  with  things  practical,  con- 
venient, or  of  ordinary  use  ?  We  wish  for  nothing  but 
what  is  brilliant,  unexpected,  extraordinary.  What  is 
the  good  of  setting  down  in  writing  the  incidents  of 
commonplace  lives  ?  Are  they  not  sufficiently  known 
to  us  ?  does  not  their  triviality  sadden  us  enough  every 
day  ?  If  we  are  told  stories  of  imaginary  lives,  let 
them  at  least  be  dissimilar  from  our  own  ;  let  them  offer 
unforeseen  incidents ;  let  the  author  be  free  to  turn 
aside  from  reality  provided  that  he  leaves  the  trivial 
and  the  ordinary.      Let  him  lead  us  to  Verona,  Athens^ 


104  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

into  Arcadia,  where  he  will,  fot  as  far  as  possible  from 
Fleet  Street  !  And  if  by  ill-luck  he  sets  foot  in  Fleet 
Street,  let  him  at  least  speak  the  language  of  Arcadia  ! 

Authors  found  this  advice  excellent,  and  took  good 
care  to  relieve  themselves  of  difficult  search  after  the 
mere  truth.  The  public  who  imposed  these  laws,  this 
exacting  public  of  women  who  read  Plutarch  and 
Plato,  who  judged  the  merits  of  great  men  as  learnedly 
as  the  cut  of  a  ruff,  found  at  the  very  moment  they 
most  wanted  him  the  author  who  could  please  them  in 
the  person  of  a  novel  writer,  the  famous  Lyly.  At 
twenty-five  years  of  age,  John  Lyly,  a  frotdgd  of  Lord 
Burghley,  who  was  at  this  same  time  busy  with  his  own 
architectural  poem,  if  one  may  say  so,  of  Burghley 
House,  wrote  "  Euphues,"  i  a  new  kind  too  of  '^  paper- 
work "  with  which  people  were  enraptured. 

It  was  written  expressly  for  women,  and  not  only  did 
the  author  not  conceal  the  circumstance,  but  he  pro- 
claimed it  aloud.  Their  opinion  alone  interested  him, 
to  that  of  the  critics  he  was  indifferent.  "  It  resteth 
Ladies,"  he  said,  *'  that  you  take  the  paines  to  read  it, 
but  at  such  times,  as  you  spend  in  playing  with  your 
little  dogges,  and  yet  will  I  not  pinch  you  of  that  pas- 
time, for  I  am  content  that  your  dogges  lie  in  your 
laps  :  so  '  Euphues  '  may  be  in  your  hands,  that  when 
you  shall  be  wearie  in  reading  of  the  one,  you  may  be 
ready    to  sport  with  the   other.  .  .   .  '  Euphues '  had 

^  "  *  Euphues '  the  anatomy  of"  wyt  .  .  .  wherin  are  contained 
the  delights  that  wyt  followeth  in  his  youth  by  the  pleasauntnesse 
of  Love,  and  the  happynesse  he  rcapeth  in  age  by  the  perfectnesse 
of  wisedome  "  ;  London  [1579],  4to ;  reprinted  by  Arber,  London, 
1869.     Lyly  was  born  in  1553  or  1554;  he  died  in  i6o5. 


i 


LYLY  AND  HIS  ''  EUPHUESr  105 

rather  lye  shut  in  a  Ladyes  casket,  then  open  in  a 
Schollers  studie/'  Yet  after  dinner,  ''  Euphues  "  will 
still  be  agreeable  to  the  ladies,  adds  Lyly,  always 
smiling  ;  if  they  desire  to  slumber,  it  will  bring  them 
to  sleep  which  will  be  far  better  than  beginning  to  sew 
and  pricking  their  fingers  when  they  begin  to  nod.^ 

There  is  no  possibility  of  error  ;  with  Lyly  com- 
mences in  England  the  literature  of  the  drawing-room,  • 
that  of  which  we  speak  at  morning  calls,  productions 
which,  in  spite  of  vast  and  many  changes,  still  occupy 
a  favourite  place  on  the  little  boudoir  tables.  We  must 
also  notice  what  pains  Lyly  gives  himself  to  make  his 
innovation  a  success,  and  so  please  his  patronesses,  and 
how  he  ornaments  his  thoughts  and  engarlands  his 
speeches,  how  cunningly  he  imbues  himself  with  the 
knowledge  of  the  ancients  and  of  foreigners,  and  what 
trouble  he  gives  himself  to  improve  upon  the  most 
learned  and  the  most  florid  of  them.  His  care  was 
not  thrown  away.  He  was  spoiled,  petted,  and  caressed 
by  the  ladies ;  with  an  impartial  heart  they  extended  to 
the  author  the  same  favour  they  granted  to  the  book, 
and  to  their  little  dogs.  He  was  proclaimed  king  of 
letters  by  his  admirers,  and  became,  in  fact,  king  of  the 
-prdcieux.  He  created  a  school,  and  the  name  of  his 
hero  served  to  baptize  a  whole  literature.  This  par- 
ticular form  of  bad  style  was  called  euphuism. 

^  Dedication  of  the  second  part  :  "  To  the  Ladies  and  Gentle- 
woemen  of  England."  There  is  afterwards  a  sort  of  second  preface 
addressed  to  the  "  Gentlemen  readers,"  but  Lyly  puts  into  it  much 
less  animation,  and  appears  to  have  written  it  only  for  conscience'' 
sake  in  order  not  to  forget  any  one. 


1 06  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 


II. 


Euphuism  owes  to  him  its  name  and  its  diffusion  in 
England;  but  not,  although  it  is  usually  so  stated,  its 
birth.  This  strange  language,  as  Dr.  Landmann^  has 
well  demonstrated,  was  imported  from  Spain  into  Eng- 
land, and  Lyly  was  not  the  first  to  use  it  in  this  country. 
The  works  of  Guevara,  turned  into  English  by  ^vt  or 
tix  different  translators,  had  a  considerable  vogue  and 
/acclimatized  this  extraordinary  style  in  Great  Britain. 
One  of  his  writings  especially,  ''The  golden  boke  of 
[Marcus  Aurelius,  emperour/'  enjoyed  a  very  great 
popularity  ;  it  was  translated  by  Lord  Berners  in  1532, 
and  by  Sir  Thomas  North  in  1557,-  and  went  through 

^  In  his  excellent  work,  "  Shakspere  and  Euphuism,"  T^ransac- 
tions  of  the  Nezv  Shakspere  Society^  1884,  Dr.  Landmann  was  the 
first  to  break  up  Lyly's  style  into  its  different  parts,  and  point 
out  the  true  sources  where  he  found  not  only  the  elements  of 
his  language,  but  even  many  of  his  ideas.  The  same  essay  contains 
very  useful  information  on  Gongorism  and  other  kinds  of  affected 
styles  of  the  sixteenth  century.  See  also  Dr.  Landmann's  "  Dcr 
Euphuismus,"  Giessen,  1881  ;  his  edition  of  part  of  "Euphues," 
Heilbronn,  1887;  and  an  article  by  Mr.  S.  L.  Lee,  Athenaum^ 
July  14,1883. 

2  The  "  Libro  aurco "  appeared  in  1529;  it  was  translated 
into  French  in  1531,  and  went  through  a  great  many  editions, 
entitled  sometimes  "  Le  Livre  dorc  de  Marc-Aurcle  "  ;  sometimes 
*'  L'Horloge  des  princes."  North's  translation,  which  followed 
the  French  editions,  is  entitled,  "  The  Diall  of  Princes,  by 
Guevara,  englyshed  out  of  the  Frenche,"  London,  1557,  fol.  ; 
it  had  several  editions.  It  is  to  the  Marcus  Aurelius  of  Guevara 
that  La  Fontaine  alludes  in  his  "  Paysan  du  Danube"  ;  the  story 
of  the  peasant  was  one  of  the  most  popular  of  the  "  Golden 
Boke."  Guevara's  style,  with  all  the  supplementary  embel- 
lishments that   Lyly  has  added,  was  already  to    be   seen   in    the 


LYLY  AND  HIS  "  EUPHUESr  107 

many  editions.  The  moral  dissertations  of  which  it  is 
full  enchanted  serious  minds  ;  the  unusual  language  of 
Spain  delighted  frivolous  souls.  Before  Lyly,  English 
authors  had  already  imitated  it  ;  but  when  Lyly 
appeared  and  embellished  it  even  more,  enthusiasm 
ran  so  high  that  its  foreign  progenitor  was  forgotten, 
and  this  exotic  style  was  rebaptized  as  proof  of 
adoption  and  naturalization  in  England. 

Since  it  is  not  a  natural  product,  but  the  mere  result 
of  ingenious  artifices,  nothing  is  easier  than  to  reduce 
it  to  its  component  parts,  to  take  it  to  pieces  so  to 
speak.  It  consists  in  an  immoderate,  prodigious,  mon- 
strous use  of  similes,  so  arranged  as  to  set  up  antitheses 
in  every  limb  of  the  sentence.  What  is  peculiar  to  the 
English  imitators,  is  the  employment  of  alliteration,  in 
order  to  better  mark  the  balance  of  the  sentences 
written  for  effect.  Finally,  the  kind  of  similes  even 
has  something  peculiar  :  they  are  for  the  most  part 
borrowed  from  an  imaginary  ancient  history  and  a 
fantastical  natural  history,  a  sort  of  mythology  of  plants 
and  stones  to  which  the  most  extraordinary  virtues  are 
attributed.  \ 

In  the  important  parts,  when  he  means  to  use  a  noble  \ 
style,  Lyly  cannot  relate  the  most  trivial  incident  with- 
out setting  up  parallels  between   the  sentiments  of  his 
characters  and  the  virtues  of  toads,  serpents,  unicorns, 
scorpions,  and  all  the  fantastical   animals  mentioned  in   / 
Pliny  or  described  in  the  bestiaries  of  the  Middle  Ages.  / 
His  knowledge  of  zoology  resembles  that  of  Richard' 

collection  of  short  stories  by  Pettie,  1576  {supra^  p.  81)  of 
which  one  of  the  early  editions  begins  like  *'  Euphues,"  with  an 
epistle  to  the  "  gentlewomen  readers/' 


.  io8  THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL. 

de  Fournival,  who,  in  the  thirteenth  century,  lamented 
in  his  "  Bestiaire  d' Amour,"  ^  that  he  was  like  the  wolf, 
who,  when  instead  of  first  noticing  the  man,  allowed 
the  man  to  see  him  first,  lost  all  his  courage  ;  or  Hke 
the  cricket  who  loves  chirping  so  much  that  he 
forgets  to  eat  and  allows  himself  to  be  caught. 
Richard  was  overcome  in  like  manner  by  the  glances  of 
his  mistress,  and  all  his  songs  only  served  to  accom- 
plish his  ruin.  The  woman  he  loves  resembles  the 
bird  called  "  Kalander,"  or  again,  the  animal  called 
*^  cockatrice  '*  or  "  cocodrille,"  which  is  often  mentioned 
by  Lyly.  "  Its  nature  is  such  that  when  it  finds  a  man, 
then  it  devours  him,  and  when  it  has  devoured  him, 
then  it  laments  him  all  the  days  of  its  life."  -  Such 
is  the  conduct,  says  Richard,  of  women  too  beautiful 
and  too  much  beloved. 

Bestiaries  had  enjoyed  an  immense  popularity  from 
the  earliest  times.  They  were  not  all,  far  from  it, 
like  Richard  de^  Fourniyal's,  love-bestiaries  ;  most  of 
themTiad  a  religious  tendency.  Such  were,  for  exam- 
ple, in  England,  the  well-known  Anglo-Saxon  bestiary,3 
or  the  English  bestiary  of  the  thirteenth  century,  in 
which  we  read  of  the  world-famous  wickedness 
of  the  whale  who  allows  sailors  to  rest  on  her 
back,    and    even  to  light  a  fire  thereon,  in    order    to 

^  "Le  Bestiaire  d'Amour,"  ed.  Hippeau,  Paris,  1840,  8vo. 
Richard  de  Fournival  died  about  1260.  The  MS.  followed  in 
this  edition  is  dated  1285. 

2  "  Sa  nature  si  est  que  quand  il  trouve  un  homme,  si  le  devorc, 
et  quand  il  I'a  devore,  si  le  pleure  tous  les  jours  de  sa  vie." 

3  Fragments  of  which  remain  in  the  "Codex  Exoniensis,"  ed. 
Thorpe,  London,  1842,  8vo.  The  Panther,  p.  355  ;  the  Whale, 
p.  360,  &c. 


8^ 


LYLY  AISfD  HIS  '' EUPHUESr  iii 

warm  themselves  ;  but  as  soon  as  she  feels  the  heat 
she  dives  and  drowns  them  all  :  an  example  of  what 
may  be  expected  from  the  devil.  There  is,  too,  the 
elephant  that  leans  against  a  tree  to  take  his  rest. 
People  cunningly  cut  the  tree,  and  replace  it  ;  when  the 
elephant  comes  the  tree  falls  and  so  does  he,  and  is 
caught,  an  emblem  of  our  father  Adam,  who  also  owed 
his  fall  to  a  tree.i  Again  the  "  Contes  Moralises"  of 
Nicole  Bozon,  written  in  French  by  a  friar  who  lived 
rrrETgland  in  the  first  half  of  the  fourteenth  century, 
are  also  full  of  the  most  curious  comparisons  between 
the  properties  of  animals,  plants,  and  minerals,  and  the 
sinful  tendencies  and  frailties  of  mankind. 2 

These  are  old,  far-off  examples,  and  it  might  be  sup- 
posed that  people  of  education  in  Elizabethan  England 
would  have  possessed  a  sounder  knowledge  of  natural 
history.  This  was,  however,  not  the  case.  And  if  we 
wish  to  know  what  were  the  current  beliefs  among 
well-informed  men  of  the  time  about  animals,  we  have 
only  to  open  the  two  folio  volumes  penned  with  greatest 
care  by  painstaking  Topsell,  concerning  "  Foure-footed 
beastes  "  and  ''  Serpents."  3  We  shall  then  willingly  set 
Lyly  and  his  followers  free  from  all  blame  of  exaggera- 
tion   and  improbable  inventions.      Most   often   indeed 

^  "An  old  English  Miscellany,  containing  a  bestiary,"  ed.  R, 
Morris,  London,  Early  English  Text  Society,  1872. 

2  Recently  published  by  Miss  Lucy  Toulmin  Smith  and  M. 
Paul  Meyer,  Paris,  Societe  des  anciens  textes  Fran^ais,  1889, 
8vo. 

3  "  The  historic  of  Foure-footed  beastes,  describing  the  true  and 
lively  figure  of  every  beast,"  London,  1607,  fol.  "The  historic 
of  Serpents  or  the  second  book  of  living  creatures,"  London,  1608, 
fol. 

7 


112  THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL. 

they  did  not  invent;  they  knew.  Topsell's  books  are 
nothing  but  a  careful  summary  of  the  then  generally 
accepted  reports  concerning  animated  creation. 

His  histories  are  the  more  curious  as  his  scruples  and 
earnestness  are  obvious.  His  purpose  is  high,  and  he 
means  to  write  only  for  the  Creator's  glory,  considering 
his  subject  to  be  a  "  part  of  Divinity  that  was  never 
known  in  English.  I  take  my  owne  conscience  to  wit- 
ness, which  is  manifest  to  my  Judge  and  Saviour,  I  have 
intended  nothing  but  his  glory,  that  is  the  creator  of 
all."  Secondly,  his  serious  attention  to  his  subject  is 
shown  by  what  he  says  of  accessible  animals  ;  the 
engravings  he  gives  of  them,  of  dogs,  for  instance,  of 
bulls,  asses,  and  many  others  being  really  excellent. 
Even  rare  animals,  when  by  any  chance  he  had  secured 
a  glimpse  of  them,  are  represented  with  the  utmost 
care  ;  such,  for  instance,  is  his  chameleon,  of  which  he 
gives  a  very  good  engraving,  not  long  after  careless 
Robert  Greene  had  been  writing  of  "  this  byrd,  a 
camelion."  ^ 

But,  then,  nature  is  full  of  surprises,  and  so  is 
Topsell's  book.  His  antelopes  are  very  dangerous 
things  :  "  They  have  homes  .  .  .  which  are  very  long 
and  sharpe  ;  so  that  Alexander  affirmed  they  pierced 
through  the  sheeldes  of  his  souldiers,  and  fought  with 
them  very  irefully  :  at  which  time  his  companions  slew 
as  he  travelled  to  India,  8,550;  which  great  slaughter 
may  be  the  occasion  why  they  are  so  rare  and  sildome 
seene  to  this  day."     Undoubtedly. 

The  blood  of  the  elephant  has  a  very  strange  pro- 

'"Alcida.  Greenes  metamorphosis,"  licensed  1588  ;  earliest  known 
edition,  161 7. 


LYLY  AND  HIS  " E UPHUESr  1 1 5 

perty :  "  Also  it  is  reported  that  the  blood  of  an 
elephant  is  the  coldest  blood  in  the  world  and  that 
Dragons  in  the  scorching  heate  of  summer  cannot  get 
anything  to  coole  them  except  this  blood."  The  sea- 
horse, or  hippopotamus,  ''  is  a  most  ugly  and  filthy 
beast,  so  called  because  in  his  voice  and  mane  he  re- 
sembleth  a  horsse,  but  in  his  head  an  oxe  or  a  calfe  ; 
in  the  residue  of  his  body  a  swine.  ...  It  liveth  for 
the  most  part  in  rivers ;  yet  it  is  of  a  doubtful  life,  for 
it  brings  forth  and  breedeth  on  the  land."  According  to 
the  accompanying  engraving  he  apparently  feeds  on 
crocodiles.  The  rhinoceros  is  remarkable  for  his 
breathing  :  he  "  hath  a  necke  like  unto  a  horsse  and 
also  the  other  parts  of  his  body,  but  it  is  said  to  breath 
out  aire  which  killeth  men." 

But  in  this  world  of  animals,  which  includes  the 
Mantichora,  the  Sphinga,  the  Papio,  and  a  monster 
alive  "  in  the  territory  of  the  bishop  of  Salceburgh," 
the  most  interesting  is  the  Lamia.  It  is  of  such  great 
interest  because  its  very  existence  has  been  disputed, 
but  quite  wrongly.  Some  untrue  reports  were  cir- 
culated concerning  this  animal,  and  as  these  accounts 
were  fabulous,  people  have  been  found  who  disbelieved, 
not  only  the  stories,  but  even  the  possibility  that  Lamias 
existed.  Topsell  wisely  takes  a  middle  course  :  "  These 
and  such  like  stories  and  opinions  there  are  of  Phairies, 
which  in  my  judgment  arise  from  the  prasstigious 
apparitions  of  Devils,  whose  delight  is  to  deceive  and 
beguile  the  minds  of  men  with  errour,  contrary  to  the 
truths  of  holye  scripture  which  doeth  no  where  make 
mention  of  such  inchaunting  creatures  ;  and  therefore  if 
any  such  be,  we  will  holde  them    the  workes  of  the 


1 1 6  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

Devill  and  not  of  God."  But,  then,  there  are  true 
Lamias,  and  *'  we  shall  take  for  granted  by  the  testimony 
of  holy  scripture  that  there  is  such  a  beast  as  this." 
The  particulars  Topsell  was  able  to  gather  about  them 
are  to  the  following  effect  :  *'  The  hinde  parts  of  this 
beast  are  like  unto  a  goate,  his  fore  legs  like  a  beares, 
his  upper  parts  to  a  woman,  the  body  scaled  all  over 
like  a  Dragon,  as  some  have  observed,  by  the  observa- 
tion of  their  bodies."  Their  wickedness  is  so  great 
that  it  scarcely  bears  description  :  "  They  are  the 
swiftest  of  foot  of  all  earthly  beasts,  so  as  none  can 
escape  them  by  running,  for  by  their  celerity,  they  com- 
passe  their  prey  of  beastes,  and  by  their  fraud,  they 
overthrow  men.  For  when  as  they  see  a  man,  they  lay 
open  their  breastes,  and  by  the  beauty  thereof  entice  them 
to  come  neare  to  conference,  and  so  having  them  within 
their  compasse,  they  devoure  and  kill  them."  So  much 
for  four-footed  beasts.  ^ 

The  "  Historie  of  serpents  "  is  not  less  instructive, 
for  it  contains,  "  with  their  lively  figures  :  names,  con- 
ditions, kindes  and  natures  of  all  venomous  beasts  :  with 
their  severall  poisons  and  antidotes  ;  their  deepe  hatred  to 
mankind  and  the  wonderfull  worke  of  God  in  their  crea- 
tion and  destruction."  Among  serpents  are  included  : 
bees,  drones,  wasps,  hornets,  frogs,  toads,  tortoises, 
spiders,  earthworms,  and  many  other  unexpected 
"  venomous  beasts."  There  is  in  this  book  information 
concerning  the  boas  :  "  The  Latines  call  it  Boa  and  Bossa 
of  Bos  because  by  sucking  cowes  milke  it  so  encreaseth 
that  in  the  end  it  destroyeth  all  manner  of  herdes  and 
cattels."  The  cockatrice,  above  named, ''  seemeth  to  be 
^  "  Foure-footed  beastes,"  ut  supra,  pp.  i,  199,  328,  453. 


UNIVERSITY 


LYLY  AND  HIS  '' EUPHUESr  119 

the  king  of  serpents  .  .  .  because  of  his  stately  face  and 
magnanimous  mind."  The  crocodile  is  to  be  carefully 
avoided,  '^  even  the  Egyptians  themselves  account  a 
crocodile  a  savage  and  cruell  murthering  beast,  as  may 
appeare  by  their  Hieroglyphicks,  for  when  they  will 
decypher  a  mad  man,  they  picture  a  crocodile/'  And 
Topsell  goes  on  to  relate  the  particular  hatred  which 
existed  between  crocodiles  and  the  inhabitants  of 
Tentyris,  that  exquisitely  charming  Denderah  which 
overlooks  the  valley  of  the  Nile,  and  still  deserves  its 
old  fame  as  the  chief  temple  of  the  Goddess  Athor, 
the  Egyptian  Aphrodite. 

The  dipsas,  the  hydra,  the  dragon,  are  also  endowed 
with  the  most  remarkable  qualities  ;  but  they  seem  to 
have  disappeared  since  Topsell's  day.  Not  so  another 
very  wonderful  animal  of  whom  we  continue  to  hear 
from  time  to  time,  I  mean  the  great  sea-serpent ;  this 
marvellous  beast  is  not  only  described,  but  depicted  in 
our  naturalist's  book.  Topsell  gives  a  faithful  por- 
trait of  it,  and  we  do  the  same.  These  animals  are  so 
big  that  "  many  a  time,  they  overthrow  in  the  waters  a 
laden  vessell  of  great  quantitie,  with  all  the  wares 
therein  contained."  The  engraving  shows  one  of  them 
upsetting  a  three-masted  Jacobean  ship  and  swallow- 
ing sailors,  apparently  with  great  relish  and  voracity. ^ 

Such  being  the  current  belief  among  students  of  the 
natural  sciences,  we  may  be  the  better  prepared  to  excuse 
some  eccentricities  in  a  novelist.  Lyly,  who  was  well 
versed  in  the  legendary  lore  of  plants  and  animals,  is 
never  tired  of  making  a  display  of  his  knowledge,  but 
the  wonder  is  that  his  readers  had  never  too  much  of  that. 

^   *'  Historic  of  serpents,"  ///  supra,  pp.  iii,  140,  236,  &c. 


/ 


I20  THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL. 

A  single  erudite  or  scientific  simile  never  satisfies  Lyly  ; 
he  has  always  in  his  hands  a  long  bead-roll  of  them, 
which  he  complacently  pays  out  :  *'  The  foul  toade  hath 
a  faire  stone  in  his  head,  the  fine  golde  is  found  in  the 
filthy  earth  :  the  sweet  kernell  lyeth  in  the  hard  shell  : 
vertue  is  harboured  in  the  heart  of  him  that  most  men 
esteeme  mishapen  .  .  .  Doe  we  not  commonly  see  that 
in  painted  pottes  is  hidden  the  deadlyest  poyson  ?  that 
in  the  greenest  grasse  is  ye  greatest  serpent?  in  the 
cleerest  water  the  uglyest  toade  ? "  and  four  or  five 
similes  still  follow.  Tormented  by  examples,  over- 
whelmed with  similitudes,  the  adventurous  reader,  who 
to-day  risks  a  reading  of  "  Euphues,"  feels  it  impossible 
to  keep  his  composure.  He  would  like  to  protest,  to 
defend  himself,  to  say  that  he  has  lied,  this  imper- 
turbable naturalist,  that  bitter  kernels  are  found  indeed 
in  the  hardest  shells,  that  painted  pots  often  contain 
something  other  than  poison,  and  that  if  toads  appear 
less  ugly  in  foul  water,  it  is  perhaps  because  they  are 
the  less  seen.  But  what  does  it  matter  to  Lyly }  He 
writes  for  a  select  coterie,  and  when  a  man  writes  for 
a  coterie,  the  protestations  of  the  discontented,  of  the 
envious,  alas  !  of  those  of  good  sense,  too,  are  scarcely 
of  any  consequence.  Let  the  common  herd  then  shriek 
themselves  hoarse  at  Lyly's  door  :  it  is  shut  fast,  he 
will  hear  nothing,  and  is  indifferent  even  if  among  this 
common  herd  Shakespeare  figures.  He  is  happy ; 
"  Euphues,"  in  company  with  the  little  dogs,  rumples 
the  silken  laps  of  ladies  with  the  lace-plaited  ruffs. 


LYLY  AND  HIS  " E UPHUESr  1 2 3 

III. 

But  however  important  style  may  be,  it  is  not  every- 
thing in  a  literary  work.  It  must  be  acknowledged 
that  Lyly's  success,  if  it  is  no  commendation  of  the 
taste  of  his  contemporaries,  is  greatly  to  the  credit  of 
their  morality  and  earnestness.  By  the  form  of  his 
sentences  Lyiy  is  a  Spaniard  ;  he  surpasses  the  most 
bombastic,  and  could  give  points  to  that  author  men- 
tioned by  Louis  Racine,  who,  discovering  his  mistress 
lying  under  a  tree,  cried  :  "  Come  and  see  the  sun  reclining 
in  the  shade  !  "  But  the  basis  of  his  character  is  purely 
English  ;  he  is  truly  of  the  same  country  as  Richardson, 
and  belongs  at  heart  to  that  race  which  Tacitus  said  did 
not  know  how  "  to  laugh  at  vices,"  a  very  high  praise 
that  Rousseau  rendered  later  almost  in  the  same  terms. ^ 
From  the  time  of  Lyly  until  our  own  day,  the  English 
novel,  generally  speaking,  has  remained  not  only  rnoral, 
but  a  moralizing  agent ;  the  author  has  recourse  to  a 
thousand  skilful  and  fascinating  devices,  and  leads  us 
by  the  hand  through  all  sorts  of  flowery  paths  ;  but 
whatever  the  manner  may  be,  he  almost  invariably,  with- 
out saying  so,  leads  us  to  the  sermon.  There  are 
sermons  in  Defoe,  who  strongly  protested  against  some 
abbreviations  of  his  "  Robinson  Crusoe  "  :   "  They  strip 

^  It  should  not,  however,  be  thence  concluded  that  Lyly  is 
original  in  all  his  moral  dissertations  ;  as  Dr.  Landmann  has 
pointed  out  (see  supra,  p.  106)  he  often  borrows  large  pass-ages 
from  Plutarch  and  Guevara  ;  but  what  is  remarkable  is  the  intense 
and  persistent  conviction,  and  also  the  success,  at  least  success  in 
so  far  that  it  was  read,  with  which  this  young  man  of  twenty-five, 
who  was  of  the  world  and  not  of  the  church,  preaches  good  morals 
to  all  classes  of  society. 


1 24  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

it  of  all  those  reflections  as  well  religious  as  moral,  which 
are  not  only  the  greatest  beauties  of  the  work,  but  are 
calculated  for  the  infinite  advantage  of  the  reader."  ^ 
There  are  sermons  in  Richardson,  so  much  so  that  it 
might  rather  be  said  that  novels  are  to  be  noticed  in 
Richardson's  magnificent  series  of  sermons.  This  is 
the  way  he  himself  would  have  spoken.  Did  he  not 
write  to  Lady  Bradsaigh,  while  forwarding  her  the  last 
volumes  of  "  Clarissa  "  :  "  Be  pleased  ...  to  honour  these 
volumes  with  a  place  with  your  Taylor's  Holy  Living 
and  Dying,  with  your  Practice  of  piety,  and  Nelson's 
Fasts  and  Festivals,  not  as  being  worthy  of  such 
company,  but  that  they  may  have  a  chance  of  being 
dipt  into  thirty  years  hence.  For  I  persuade  myself, 
they  will  not  be  found  utterly  unworthy  of  such  a 
chance,  since  they  appear  in  the  humble  guise  of  novel, 
only  by  the  way  of  accommodation  to  the  manners  and 
taste  of  an  age  overwhelmed  with  luxury,  and  aban- 
doned to  sound  and  senselessness."  2  There  are  some 
sermons  in  Fielding,  many  in  Dickens,  not  a  few  in 
George  Eliot,  and  even  in  Thackeray.  Splendid  they 
are,  most  eloquent,  most  admirable  in  their  kind,  most 
beneficial  in  their  way  ;  but  there  is  no  denying  that 
sermons  they  are.  Unfortunately  for  Lyly,  what 
formerly  constituted  the  attraction  of  "  Euphues," 
and  hid  the  sermon's  bitte'rness,  makes  it  to-day 
ridiculous  and  even  odious  :  it  is  the  style.  Let  us 
forget  for  a  moment  his  unicorns  and  his  scorpions  ; 
taken  in  himself,  his  hero  deserves  attention,  because  he 

^  Preface  to  Part  II. 

2  "Correspondence    of    Samuel     Richardson,"     ed.     Barbauld, 
London,  1804,  6  vols.  i2mo. 


L  YLY  AND  HIS  "  EUPHUESr  127 

is  the  ancestor  in  direct  line  of  Grandison,  of  Lord 
Orville,  of  Lord  Colambre,  and  of  all  the  sermonizing 
lords,  and  lords  of  good  example,  that  England  owed 
to  the  success  of  Richardson. 

Euphues  is  a  young  Athenian,  a  contemporary  not 
of  Pericles,  but  of  Lyly,  who  goes  to  Naples,  thence 
to  England,  to  study  men  and  governments.  Grave 
with  that  gravity  peculiar  to  lay  preachers,  well-in- 
formed on  every  subject,  even  on  his  own  merits, 
assured  by  his  conscience  that  in  making  mankind 
sharer  in  his  illumination,  he  will  assure  their  sal- 
vation, he  addresses  moral  epistles  to  his  fellow  men  / 
to  guide  them  through  life.  \  Omniscient  like  the 
inheritors  of  his  vein  whom  we  have  heard  since,  he 
instructs  the  world  in  the  truth  about  marriage,  travel, 
religion.  He  anticipates,  in  his  discourses  concerning 
aristocracy,  the  philosophical  ideas  of  "  Milord 
Edouard,"  of  "  Nouvelle  Heloise  "  fame  ;  he  treats 
of  love  with  the  wisdom  of  Grandison,  and  of  the 
bringing  up  of  children  with  the  experience  of  Pamela.^ 

When  women  are  his  subject  he  is  especially  earnest 
and  eloquent,  and  having,  as  it  seems,  suffered  much 
at  their  hands  he  concludes :  ''  Come  to  me  al  ye 
lovers  that  have  bene  deceived  by  fancy,  the  glasse  of 
pestilence,  or  deluded  by  woemen,  the  gate  to  perdition  ; 
be  as  earnest  to  seeke   a  medicine,  as  you  were   eager 

^  The  meaning  of  his  name  is  thus  given  by  Ascham  in  his 
"  Scholemaster  "  (1570)  :  "  Ev(pvr)g  is  he  that  is  apte  by  goodnes  of 
witte  and  appliable  by  readines  of  will,  to  learning,  having  all 
other  qualities  of  the  minde  and  partes  of  the  bodie  that  must  an 
other  day  serve  learning,  not  troubled,  mangled  or  halfed,  but 
sounde,  whole,  full,  and  hable  to  do  their  office."    So  was  Grandison. 


128  THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL. 

to  runne  into  a  mischiefe."  Having  thus  secured, 
as  it  seems,  a  fairly  large  audience,  he  begins  his 
sermon,  which  he  is  pleased  to  call,  "  a  cooling  carde 
for  Philautus,  and  all  fond  lovers."  ^  His  intention 
is  to  give  men  remedies,  which  shall  cure  them  of 
loving.  Some  of  his  precepts  resemble  the  wise  advice 
oF  Rondibilis  to  Panurge  ;  some  do  not.  Philautus  is 
to  avoid  solitude,  and  idleness  ;  he  must  study.  In 
the  same  way  Panurge  is  recommended  laheur  assidu 
and  fervente  estude?  Philautus  is  advised  to  try  law, 
*'  whereby  thou  mayest  have  understanding  of  olde  and 
auntient  customes  ;  "  if  law  proves  of  no  ava.il,  there 
is  *'  Physicke,"  and  if  this  again  fails,  then  there  is 
"  the  atteining  of  ye  sacred  and  sincere  knowledge  of 
divinitie."  Study  then  may  be  supplemented  by  con- 
temptuous meditations  about  women ;  3  a  remedy 
which  Rabelais,  who  probably  knew  more  of  life  than 
twenty-five-years-old  Lyly,  refrains  from  recommending. 
This  part  of  the  anathema,  including  as  it  does 
a  description  of  the  superfluities  of  Elizabethan  dress, 
is  especially  worth  noticing  :  "  Take  from  them," 
cries  Euphues,  in  a  burst  of  eloquence,  "  their  pery- 
wigges,  their  paintings,  their  Jewells,  their  rowles,  their 
boulstrings,  and  thou  shalt  soone  perceive  that  a  woman 
is  the  least  part  of  hir  selfe.  When  they  be  once 
robbed  of  their  robes,  then  wil  they  appeare  so  odious, 
so  ugly,  so  monstrous,  that  thou  wilt  rather  think  them 
serpents  then  saints,  and  so  like  hags,  that  thou  wilt 

^  Arber's  reprint,  pp.  io6  et  seq. 

2  "  Pantagruel,"  bk.  iii.  ch.  xxxi. 

3  Compare  the  meditations  of  the  same  sort  of  the  Pedant  in  the 
"  Pedant  joue,"  of  Cyrano  de  Bergerac. 


LYLY  AND  HIS  ''  EUFHUESr  129 

feare  rather  to  be  enchaunted  than  enamoured.  Looke 
in  their  closettes,  and  there  shalt  thou  finde  an  appoti- 
caryes  shop  of  sweete  confections,  a  surgions  boxe  of 
sundry  salves,  a  pedlers  packe  of  newe  fangles.  Besides 
all  this  their  shadows,  their  spots,  their  lawnes,  their 
leefekyes,  their  ruffes,  their  rings,  shew  them  rather 
cardinalls  curtisans  then  modest  matrons.  ...  If  every 
one  of  these  things  severally  be  not  of  force  to  move 
thee,  yet  all  of  them  joyntly  should  mortifie  thee.*' 
This  was,  however,  by  no  means  the  case,  and  Philautus 
not  so  much  "cooled"  by  this  "  carde ''  as  his  friend 
expected,  behaved  himself  in  such  a  way  as  to 
demonstrate  that,  according  to  his  experience,  here 
was  gross  exaggeration  indeed. 

Euphues  shows  better  knowledge  of  the  heart  of 
woman  when,  continuing  his  analysis  of  women's  foibles, 
he  comes  to  give  his  friend  information  that  teaches 
him  in  fact  rather  how  to  be  loved  than  how  to 
cease  loving  :  *'Yet  if  thou  be  so  weake  being  be- 
witched with  their  wiles  that  thou  hast  neither  will  to 
eschue  nor  wit  to  avoyd  their  company  .  .  .  yet  at  the 
hearte  dissemble  thy  griefe  .  .  .  cary  two  faces  in  one 
hood,  cover  thy  flaming  fancie  with  fained  ashes  .  .  . 
let  thy  hewe  be  merry  when  thy  heart  is  melancholy, 
beare  a  pleasaunt  countenaunce  with  a  pined  conscience. 
.  .  .  Love  creepeth  in  by  stealth,  and  by  stealth  slideth 
away.  If  she  breake  promise  with  thee  in  the  night, 
or  absent  hir  selfe  in  the  day,  seeme  thou  carelesse,  and 
and  then  will  she  be  carefull  ;  if  thou  languish  \i.e.^ 
becomest  slack  in  thy  suit],  then  wil  she  be  lavish  of 
hir  honour,  yea  and  of  the  other  strange  beast  her 
honestie." 


1 30  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

He  continues  in  this  bitter  vein,  avenging,  as  it 
seems,  his  private  wrongs,  and  vowing  never,  as  far  as 
he  is  himself  concerned  to  have  anything  more  to  do 
with  women.  From  them,  he  is  naturally  led  to  think 
of  children  who  form  an  equally  good  theme  on 
which  to  moralise.  He  does  not  fail  in  this  duty,  and 
writes  for  the  good  of  his  friend,  and  of  the  public  at 
large,  a  little  treatise  very  much  in  the  style  of  some 
of  Pamela's  letters,  ^  where  we  are  taught  how 
"  Ephoebus,"  the  child  that  is  to  be,  should  be  brought 
up.  Ephoebus  is  the  Emile  of  this  sixteenth-century 
Rousseau.  Always  thorough  and  exact,  Lyly  is  careful 
to  begin  at  the  beginning,  informing  us  at  first  '^  that 
the  childe  shoulde  be  true  borne  and  no  bastarde."  - 

Then  he  comes  to  the  bringing  up  of  the  boy,  and 
with  as  much  earnestness  as  Jean- Jacques,  and  with 
true  and  moving  eloquence,  he  beseeches  the  mother 
to  be  the  nurse  of  her  own  progeny.  "  It  is  most 
necessary  and  most  naturall  in  mine  opinion,  that  the 
mother  of  the  childe  be  also  the  nurse,  both  for  the 
entire  love  she  beareth  to  the  babe,  and  the  great  desire 
she  hath  to  have  it  well  nourished  :  for  is  there  any 
one  more  meete  to  bring  up  the  infant  than  she  that 
bore  it  .^  or  will  any  be  carefull  for  it,  as  she  that 
bredde  it  .^  ...  Is  the  earth  called  the  mother  of  all 
things    onely     bicause    it    bringeth    forth  .^     No,    but 

^  For  instance,  the  letter  on  the  nursing  of  children  by  their 
mothers  (vol.  iii.  of  the  original  edition,  letter  56),  and  the  long 
letter  where  Pamela  takes  to  pieces  Locke's  *'  Treatise  on  Educa- 
tion," and  remodels  it  according  to  her  own  ideas  (vol.  iv.  letters  48 
et  seq.). 

2  Arber's  reprint,  ut  supra^  "  Euphues  and  his  Ephoebus,"  pp. 
123^/  seq. 


LYLY  AND  HIS  ''  EUPHUESr  131 

bicause  it  nourisheth  those  things  that  springe  out  of 
it.  Whatsoever  is  bred  in  ye  sea  is  fed  in  the  sea ;  no 
plant,  no  tree,  no  hearbe  commeth  out  of  the  ground 
that  is  not  moystened,  and  as  it  were  noursed  of  the 
moysture  and  mylke  of  the  earth  ;  the  lyonesse  nurseth 
hir  whelps,  the  raven  cherisheth  hir  byrdes,  the  viper 
her  broode,  and  shal  a  woman  cast  away  her  babe  ? 

'^  I  accompt  it  cast  away  which  in  the  swath  clouts  is 
cast  aside,  and  lyttle  care  can  the  mother  have  which 
can  suffer  such  crueltie  :  and  can  it  be  tearmed  with 
any  other  title  then  cruelty,  the  infant  yet  looking  redde 
of  the  mother,  the  mother  yet  breathing  through  the 
torments  of  hir  travaile,  the  child  crying  for  helpe  which 
is  said  to  move  wilde  beastes,  even  in  the  selfe  said 
moment  it  is  borne,  or  the  nexte  minute,  to  deliver  to 
a  straunge  nurse,  which  perhappes  is  neither  wholesome 
in  body,  neither  honest  in  manners,  whiche  esteemeth 
more  thy  argent  though  a  trifle,  then  thy  tender 
infant,  thy  greatest  treasure?  "  Here  Lyly  is  at  his 
best,  and  neither  Richardson  nor  Rousseau  spoke  better 
on  this  point,  which  is  one  of  their  favourite  subjects. 

He  goes  on  to  show  how  his  child  should  be  brought 
up,  with  what  principles  he  should  be  imbued  ;  many 
of  these  principles  again  very  much  resembling  those 
Rousseau  was  to  accept  and  propagate  two  hundred- 
years  later  :  ''  It  is  good  nurture  that  leadeth  to  virtue, 
and  discreete  demeanour  that  playneth  the  path  to 
felicitie.  .  .  .  To  be  a  noble  man  it  is  most  excellent, 
but  that  is  our  ancestors  ...  as  for  our  nobilytie,  our 
stocke,  our  kindred,  and  whatsoever  we  ourselves  have 
not  done  I  scarcely  accompt  ours.  ...  It  is  vertue, 
yea    vertue,    gentlemen,    that   maketh    gentlemen.  .  .  . 


1 3  2  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

These  things  \i.e.^  knowledge,  reason,  good  sense], 
neither  the  whirling  wheele  of  Fortune  can  chaunge 
neither  the  deceitful  cavilling  of  worldlings  'separate, 
neither  sickenesse  abate,  neither  age  abolish."  Then 
follows  a  dialogue  between  Euphues  and  an  atheist,^ 
in  which  I  need  not  say  the  latter  is  utterly  routed  ; 
and  the  book  ends  with  a  collection  of  letters  ^  between 
Euphues  and  various  people  who  ask  and  get  his  advice 
on  their  difficulties,  oracle-wise,  Pamela-wise  too. 

In  the  second  part  of  his  romance,  which  appeared 
in  1580,3  Lyly  gives  a  kind  of  Lettres  persanes,  but 
Lettres  persanes  reversed,  Montesquieu  making  use 
of  his  foreigner  to  satirize  France,  and  Lyly  of  his  to 
eulogize  his  native  land.  Euphues  comes  to  England 
with  his  friend  Philautus,  and,  since  he  knows  every- 
thing, instructs  the  latter  as  they  go  along.  He  warns 
him  against  wine,  gambling,  and  debauchery,  teaches 
him  geography,  and  points  out  to  him  what  is  worth 
seeing.  Philautus  does  not  retort  that  Euphues  is  a 
pedant,  which  proves  him  to  be  very  good  tempered 
and  a  perfect  travelling  companion.  The  two  friends 
are  enchanted  with  the  country  :  its  natural  products, 
its  commerce,  its  agriculture,  its  inhabitants  and  their 
manners,  its  bishops  and  their  flocks,  the  civil  govern- 
ment, the  religious  government,  everything  is  perfect. 

^  "  Euphues  and  Atheos,"  Arber's  reprint,  ut  supra,  pp.  160,  et  seq. 

2  "Certeine  Letters  writ  by  Euphues  to  his  friends,"  ibid, 
pp.  178  et  seq. 

3  "Euphues  and  his  England.  Containing  his  voyage  and 
adventures,  myxed  with  sundry  pretie  discourses  of  honest  love, 
the  description  of  the  countrey,  the  court  and  the  manner  of  that 
Isle.  .  .  .  by  John  Lyly,  Maister  of  Arte,  London  1580,"  reprinted 
by  Arber,  ut  supra. 


LYLY  AND  HIS  EUPHUES.  133 

English  gentlewomen  are  prodigies  of  wisdom  and 
beauty  ;  and  indeed  that  is  the  least  Lyly  can  say  of 
them,  since  it  is  for  them  that  he  is  writing.  When 
he  spoke,  as  we  have  seen,  disparagingly  of  women, 
he  meant  Italian  women  (none  of  whom,  as  a  matter 
of  fact,  he  had  ever  known  or  even  seen),  not  English- 
women. These  spend  their  mornings  "  in  devout 
prayer,"  and  not  in  bed  like  the  ladies  of  Italy  ;  they 
read  the  Scriptures  instead  of  Ariosto  and  Petrarch  ; 
they  are  so  beautiful  that  the  traveller  is  enraptured 
and  cannot  help  crying  out  :  "  There  is  no  beauty  but 
in  England."  To  sum  up,  "  they  are  in  prayer  devoute,  j 
in  bravery  humble,  in  beautie  chast,  in  feasting/ 
temperate,  in  affection  wise,  in  mirth  modest,  in  all^^ 
their  actions  though  courtlye,  bicause  woemen,  yet 
Aungels,  bicause  virtuous."  As  for  the  women  of 
other  countries,  they  all  have  lovers  and  spend  their 
time  in  painting  their  faces.  ^ 

Having  verified  such  important  differences,  Philautus 
cannot  do  less  than  find  a  wife  in  England,  and 
Euphues,  whose  unsociable  humour  prevents  his  doing 
likewise,  carries  away  with  him  into  his  native  land 
the  remembrance  of  "  a  place,  in  my  opinion  (if  any 
such  may  be  on  the  earth)  not  inferiour  to  a  paradise," 
and  of  a  Queen  "  of  singuler  beautie  and  chastitie, 
excelling  in  the  one  Venus,  in  the  other  Vesta." 

It  is,  however,  appropriate  to  recollect  that  at  the  time 
of  the  Renaissance,  before  the  blossoming  in  England  of 
this  literature  for  ladies,  Caxton  too  had  enumerated  the 
chief  qualities  of  the  women  of  his  country.  They  are 
the  same  as  in  Lyly,  only,  as  we  shall  see,  the  honest 
'  "Euphues  and  his  England,"  ut  supra,  p.  447, 


134  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

printer  closes  his  remarks  with  a  slight  reservation.  In 
the  preface  placed  at  the  beginning  of  a  work  translated 
from  the  French  by  Lord  Rivers,  he  states  that  in  the 
translation,  several  passages  reflecting  on  the  female 
sex  were  suppressed  ;  that  is  easily  understood ;  they 
would  have  no  application  in  England  ;  ''  for  I  wote 
wel,"  says  he,  "of  whatsomever  condicion  women  ben  in 
Grece,  the  women  of  this  contre  ben  right  good,  wyse, 
playsant,  humble,  discrete,  sobre,  chast,  obedient  to  their 
husbandis,  trewe,  secrete,  stedfast,  ever  besy  and  never 
ydle,  attemperat  in  speking  and  vertuous  in  all  their 
werkis  " —  "  or,"  he  is  fain  to  add,  "  atte  leste  sholde 
be  soo."  I  And  thereupon,  Caxton,  on  his  own 
authority,  restores  the  suppressed  passages. 

From  the  particular  point  of  view  of  the  historian 
of  the  English  novel,  Lyly  with  all  his  absurdities  had 
yet  one  merit  which  must  be  taken  into  account.  With 
him  we  leave  epic  and  chivalrous  stories  and  approach 
the  novel  of  manners.  There  is  no  longer  question 
of  Arthur  and  his  marvellous  knights,  but  rather 
of  contemporary  men,  who,  in  spite  of  excessive 
oratorical  gew-gaws,  possess  some  resemblance  to 
reality.  Conversations  are  reported  in  which  we  find 
the  tone  of  well-born  persons  of  the  period.  Lyly 
takes  care  also  to  be  very  exact  in  his  dates.  Having 
announced  at  the  end  of  his  first  volume  that  Euphues 
was  about  to  set  out  for  England,  he  informs  us  in  the 
beginning  of  the  second,  which  appeared  in  1580,  that 
the  embarkation  took  place  on  December  i,  1579. 
He  would,  for  anything,  have  gone  so  far  as  to  give 
an  engraved  portrait  of  his  hero,  just  as  we  were  to 
^  Preface  to  the  "Dictes  and  Sayinges  of  the  Philosophres,"  1477. 


LYL  V  AND  HIS  '' EUPHUESr  135 

see  later,  at  the  beginning  of  a  book  destined  to  make 
some  noise  in  the  world,  the  portrait  of  "  Captain 
Lemuel  Gulliver  of  RedriiF."  Undoubtedly  his 
opinions  on  men  and  life,  his  analysis  of  sentiment, 
are  rather  clumsily  blended  with  the  story  and  savour 
of  the  awkwardness  of  a  first  attempt  ;  but  there  was 
however  merit  in  making  the  attempt,  and  it  is  not 
impossible  at  distant  intervals  to  discover  under  the 
crust  of  pedantry  some  well-turned  passage,  possessing 
eloquence,  as  we  have  seen,  or,  more  rarely,  a  sort  of 
humour.  It  is  thus  that  a  tolerably  good  lesson  may 
be  drawn  from  the  adventures  of  Philautus  in  London, 
who,  deeply  smitten  with  the  charms  of  a  young  English 
lady,  consults  a  sorcerer  in  order  to  obtain  a  philtre  that 
will  inspire  love.  Here  was  an  excellent  opportunity, 
which  the  magician  does  not  fail  to  seize,  of  talking 
about  serpents  and  toads.  But,  after  a  long  enumeration 
of  the  bones,  stones,  and  livers  of  animals  that  cause 
love,  the  alchemist,  urged  by  Philautus,  ends  by  con- 
fessing that  the  best  sorcery  of  all  to  gain  the  loving 
regard  of  a  woman,  is  to  be  handsome,  witty,  and 
charming. 

IV 

By  his  defects  and  his  merits,  his  wisdom,  his  grace- 
fulness and  also  his  bad  style,  Lyly  could  not  fail  to 
please.  His  public  was  ready  when  he  began  writing, 
a  public  with  many  frivolous  tastes  and  many  serious 
instincts.  The  lightness  of  tone  and  of  behaviour 
which  struck  a  foreigner  coming  for  the  first  time  to 
the  English    court    or    a    professional   censor  who  by 


136  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

trade  Is  meant  to  see  nothing  else,  was  misleading  as 
showing  only  the  surface  of  the  sort  of  mankind  that 
was  flourishing  there  at  that  time.  This  lightness  of 
tone,  however,  did  exist  nevertheless,  and  those  who 
assumed  it  were  not  slow  to  embellish  their  speeches 
with  flowers  from  Lyly's  paper  garden.  The  austere 
French  Huguenot,  Hubert  Languet,  the  friend  and 
adviser  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  who  visited  England  in 
the  very  year  ''  Euphues "  was  published,  was  very 
much  astonished  to  see  how  English  courtiers  behaved 
themselves  ;  accustomed  as  he  was  to  the  grave  talk 
he  enjoyed  with  his  young  friend,  he  had  imagined, 
it  seems,  that  no  other  was  relished  by  him  or  by 
anybody  in  Queen  Elizabeth's  palaces.  When  he  left 
the  country  he  wrote  to  Sidney  his  opinion  of  the 
manners  he  had  observed.  It  is  simply  a  confirmation 
of  what  Ascham  had  stated  sometime  before,  when  he 
wrote  of  his  travelled  compatriots  :  neither  of  them 
did  justice  to  the  more  serious  qualities  hidden  under 
all  this  courtly  trifling  :  "  It  was  a  delight  to  me  last 
winter,"  says  Languet,  "  to  see  you  high  in  favour  and 
enjoying  the  esteem  of  all  your  countrymen ;  but  to 
speak  plainly,  the  habits  of  your  court  seemed  to  me 
somewhat  less  manly  than  I  could  have  wished,  and 
most  of  your  noblemen  appeared  to  me  to  seek  for 
a  reputation  more  by  a  kind  of  affected  courtesy  than 
by  those  virtues  which  are  wholesome  to  the  State, 
and  which  are  most  becoming  to  generous  spirits  and 
to  men  of  high  birth.  I  was  sorry  therefore,  and  so 
were  other  friends  of  yours,  to  see  you  wasting  the 
flower  of  your  life  on  such  things,  and  I  feared  lest 
that    noble   nature    of  yours    should    be    brought    to 


L  YLY  AND  HIS  ''EUFHUES,"  137 

take    pleasure   in    pursuits   which    only    enervate   the 
mind."  ^ 

Lyly's  book  proved  well  suited  to  this  public  ;  it 
went  through  numerous  editions  ;  it  was  printed  five 
times  during  the  first  six  years  of  its  publication,  and 
new  editions  were  issued  from  time  to  time  till  1636. 
It  gave  birth,  as  we  shall  see,  to  many  imitations ;  the 
name  of  Euphues  on  the  title-page  of  a  novel  was  for 
years  considered  a  safe  conduct  to  the  public,  if  not  to 
posterity  ;  books  purporting  to  be  Euphues'  legacies  or 
copies  of  Euphues'  papers,  or  bearing  in  some  way  or 
other  the  stamp  of  his  supposed  approbation,  multiplied 
accordingly.  The  movement  increased  rapidly,  but  it 
was  not  to  last  long  ;  in  fact,  it  did  not  continue  beyond 
ten  or  twelve  years  ;  after  this  time  the  monuments  of 
the  euphuistic  literature  were  still  reprinted,  but  no 
addition  was  made  to  their  number. 

This  period,  however,  was  filled  in  a  measure  with 
the  product  of  Lyly's  brains  or  that  of  his  imitators. 
All  who  prided  themselves  on  elegance  spoke  his 
affected  language,  and  studied  in  his  book  the  mytho- 
logy of  plants.  Edward  Blount,  a  bookseller  who 
reprinted  Lyly's  comedies  in  the  following  century,  at  a 
time  when  these  courtly  dramas  were  beginning  to 
be  forgotten,  has  well  expressed  the  kindly  and  sym- 
pathetic favour  accorded  to  Lyly  by  the  ladies  of 
Elizabethan  days:  "  These  papers  of  his,"  says  he,  "lay 
like  dead  lawrels  in  a  churchyard  ;  but  I  have  gathered 
the  scattered  branches  up,  and  by  a  charme,  gotten  from 
Apollo,  made  them  greene  againe  and  set  them  up  as 

^  Antwerp,  Nov.  14,  1579,  "Correspondence  of  Sir  Ph.  Sidney 
and  Hubert  Languet,"  ed.  Pears,  London,  1845,  8vo,  p.  167. 


138  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

epitaphes  to  his  memory.  A  sinne  it  were  to  suffer 
these  rare  monuments  of  wit  to  lye  covered  in  dust  and 
a  shame  such  conceipted.  comedies  should  be  acted  by 
none  but  wormes.  Oblivion  shall  not  so  trample  on  a 
Sonne  of  the  Muses ;  and  such  a  sonne  as  they  called 
their  darling.  Our  nation  are  in  his  debt  for  a  new 
English  which  he  taught  them.  *  Euphues  and  his 
England '  began  first  that  language ;  ail  our  ladyes 
were  then  his  schollers  ;  and  that  beautie  in  court,  which 
could  not  parley  eupheueisme  was  as  little  regarded,  as 
shee  which  now  there  speakes  not  French."  ^  It  may 
be  appropriately  recalled  here  that  this  same  Blount 
who  thus  eulogizes  Lyly  had  published  already  another 
set  of  Elizabethan  dramas,  and  a  much  more  important 
one,  viz.,  the  first  foHo  of  Shakespeare  in  1623. 

Those  comedies  which  Blount  thought  fit  to  reprint, 
considering  that  in  so  doing  he  was  presenting  to  his 
readers  "  a  Lilly  growing  in  a  grove  of  lawrels,"  are 
another  proof  of  the  success  Lyly  had,  through  his 
novel,  secured  for  himself  at  court.  ■  His  plays  are 
mythological  or  pseudo-historical  dramas,  interspersed 
with  some  pretty  songs  and  dialogues,  and  were  per- 
formed by  children  before  the  Queen  on  holy-days. 
Among  others  were  his  '^  Campaspe/'  "  played  before 
the  Queenes  Majestie,  on  new  yeares  day  at  night,  by 
Her  Majesties  children  and  the  children  of  Paules," 
1584;  his  "  Sapho  and  Phao,"  performed  also  before  the 
Queen  by  the  same  children,  on  Shrove  Tuesday,  1584  ; 
his  "  Endimion,  the  man  in  the  moone/'  played  before 

^  Preface  "  to  the  Reader  "  in  "  Six  Court  Comedies  ...  by 
the  onely  rare  poet  of  that  time,  the  wittie,  comicall,  facetiously- 
quicke  and  unparalelld  John  Lilly,"  London,  1632,  izmo. 


LYL  V  AND  HIS  ^^  EUPBUES."  139 

the  Queen  "at  Greenwich  on  Candlemass  day  at  night,  by 
the  chyldren  of  Paules";  "  Gallathea,"  played  on  New- 
Year's  Day  ;  ''  Midas,"  performed  on  Twelfth  Night, 
also  before  the  Queen,  &c.i 

On  love  matters  and  women's  affairs,  he  was  con- 
sidered an  authority  ;  the  analysis  of  the  passions  and 
the  knowledge  of  the  deeper  moods  of  the  soul,  which 
many  consider  to  be,  among  novelists,  a  new-born 
science,  were  regarded  by  his  contemporaries  as  a  thing 
wholly  his,  a  discovery  made  by  himself;  not  fore- 
seeing his  successors,  they  proclaimed  him  a  master  of 
his  newly  invented  art.  Beginners  would  come  to  him 
for  advice  or  for  a  preface,  as  they  go  now  to  the  heirs 
of  his  art,  especially  when  love  is  their  theme.  In  this 
way  Thomas  Watson  published  in  1582  his  "Passionate 
Centurie  of  Love,"  and  prefaced  it,  as  with  a  certificate 
of  its  worth,  by  a  letter  from  Lyly  :  "  My  good  friend, 
I  have  read  your  new  passions,  and  they  have  renewed 
mine  old  pleasures,  the  which  brought  to  me  no  lesse 
delight,  then  they  have  done  to  yourself  commenda- 
tions. .  .  .  Such  is  the  nature  of  persuading  pleasure, 
that  it  melteth  the  marrow  before  it  scorch  the  skin 
.  .  .  not  unlike  unto  the  oyle  of  jeat  which  rotteth  the 
bone  and  never  rankleth  the  flesh."  2 

It  was  useless  for  wise  minds  to  grumble  ;  Lyly  always 
found  women  to  applaud  him.  In  vain  did  Nash, 
twelve  years  after  the  appearance  of  "  Euphues,"  scoff 
at  the  enthusiasm  with  which  he  had  read  the  book 


^  "Dramatic  Works,"  ed.  Fairholt,  London,  1858,  two  vols.  8vo. 
2  Watson  was   then    about    twenty-five    years    old.     "  Poems," 
reprinted  by  Arber,  London,  1870,  4to. 


T40  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

when  he  was  "  a  little  ape  In  Cambridge'';  ^  vainly  was 
Euphuism  derided  on  the  stage  before  a  Cambridge 
audience  :  "  There  is  a  beaste  in  India  call'd  a  polecatt 
.  ,.  .  and  the  further  she  is  from  you  the  less  you  smell 
her,"  a  piece  of  information  that  contains  more  proba- 
bility than  perhaps  any  given  by  Lyly.^  Vainly,  too, 
Shakespeare  showed  his  opinion  of  the  style  in  lending 
it  to  FalstafF  when  the  worthy  knight  wishes  to  ad- 
monish Prince  Henry  in  the  manner  of  courts.  Grown 
old  in  his  tavern,  FalstafF  has  no  idea  that  these  refine- 
ments, fashionable  at  the  time  when  he  was  as  slender 
as  his  page,  may  be  now  the  jest  of  the  young  genera- 
tion :  "  There  is  a  thing,  Harry,  which  thou  hast  often 
heard  of,  and  it  is  known  to  many  in  our  land  by  the 
name  of  pitch  :  this  pitch,  as  ancient  writers  do  report, 
doth  defile  ;  so  doth  the  company  thou  keepest  :  for, 
Harry,  now  I  do  not  speak  to  thee  in  drink,  but  in 
tears  ;  not  in  pleasure,  but  in  passion  ;  not  in  words 
only,  but  in  woes  also."  3 

Many  persons  to  whom  the  book  doubtless  recalled 
the  memory  of  their  spring-time,  shared  FalstaflF's 
ingenuousness,  and  remained  faithful  to  Lyly  ;  if  men 
of  letters,  after  some  years  of  enthusiasm,  ceased  to 
imitate  him,  his  book  was  for  a  long  time  continuously 
read,  and  it  was  reprinted  again  and  again  even  in  the 

^  "  '  Euphues  '  I  read  when  I  was  a  little  ape  in  Cambridge,  and 
I' then  thought  it  was  ipse  ille  ;  it  may  be  excellent  still  for  ought 
T  know,  but  I  lookt  not  on  it  this  ten  yeare"  ("Strange  Newes," 
1592). 

2  "The  Pilgrimage  to  Parnassus,"  ed.  Macray,  Oxford,  1886, 
8vo.  "  The  Returne,"  part  i.  act  v.  sc.  2.  This  part  was  per- 
formed in  1600. 

3  "  \  Henry  IV.,"  act  ii.  sc.  4  (a.d.  1597-8,  Furnivall). 


? 


LYLY  AND  HIS  "  E UPHUESr  141 

reign  of  Charles  I.  It  was  translated  into  Dutch  in  the 
same  century, i  and  was  modernized  in  the  following, 
under  the  title  :  "  The  false  friend  and  the  inconstant  .,^ 
mistress  :  an  instructive  novel  .  .  .  displaying  the  arti-  S 
fices  of  the  female  sex  in  their  amours."  2  High  praise 
is  rendered  by  the  editor  to  Lyly,  who  "  was  a  great 
refiner  of  the  English  tongue  in  those  days."  The 
book  appeared  not  very  long  before  Richardson's 
"  Pamela/'  a  fact  worthy  of  notice,  the  more  so  as  in 
this  abbreviation  of  Euphues,  the  letters  contained 
in  the  original  have  been  reproduced  and  look  the  more 
conspicuous  in  the  little  pamphlet.  Quite  Richard- 
sonian,  too,  is  the  table  of  contents  which  is  rather  a 
table  of  good  precepts  and  useful  information,  a  very 
different  table  from  the  one  appended  by  Harington  to 
his  "  Ariosto. "'  Here  we  find  enumerated  the  many  wise 
recommendations  by  which  Lyly  so  long  anticipated 
Richardson  and  Rousseau  : 

*'  The  mother  ought  to  be  her  own  nurse    p.  83. 

"  The  wild  beasts  more  tender  of  their  young 
than  those  who  nurse  not  their  own  children   p.  83. 

*'  Children  not  to  be  frightened  with  stories 
of  spirits  and  bugbears  (&c.)  ...  ...   p.  86." 

So  much  for  the  continuation  of  Lyly's  fame.  As 
for  the  period  of  imitation  proper,  the  era  of  euphuism's 

^  "De  vermakelijke  historic  Zee-ecn  Landreize  van  Euphues," 
Rotterdam,  1671,  izmo.     Another  edition  of  the  same,  1682. 

2  London,  17 18,  i6mo.  "Price  2s."  (on  title-page).  Defoe's 
"Robinson  Crusoe  "appeared  the  next  year  ;  Richardson's  "Pamela'^ 
was  published  in  1740. 


142 


THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL. 


full  glory,  it  lasted,  as  we  have  said,  hardly  more  than 
twelve  or  at  most  fifteen  years.  But  it  saw  the  birth 
of  works  that  are  not  without  importance  in  the  history 
of  the  origin  of  the  novel  in  this  country. 


LIBRA. 


Ka 


3S^ 


ANOTHER   DRAGON,    1608. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


LYLYS     LEGATEES. 


I. 


ALL  Lyly's  imitators,  Greene,  Lodge,  Melbancke, 
Riche,  Munday,  Warner,  Dickenson,  and  others, 
did  not  faithfully  copy  his  style  in  all  its 
peculiarities,  at  any  rate  in  all  their  works  ;  some  of 
them  borrowed  only  his  ideas,  others  his  plot ;  others 
his  similes  ;  most  of  them,  however,  when  they  first 
began  to  write,  went  the  fullest  length  in  imitation,  and 
tricked  themselves  out  in  euphuistic  tinsel.  They  were 
careful  by  choosing  appropriate  titles  for  their  novels 
to  publicly  connect  themselves  with  the  euphuistic 
cycle.  *'  Euphues  "  was  a  magic  pass-word,  and  they 
well  knew  that  the  name  once  pronounced,  the  doors  of 
the  "  boudoirs,"  or  closets  as  they  were  then  called,  and 


146  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

the  hands  of  the  fair  ladies,  were  sure  to  open  ;  the  book 
was  certain  to  be  welcome. 

Hence  the  number  of  writers  who  declared  them- 
selves Euphues'  legatees  and  executors.  Year  after 
year,  for  a  while,  readers  saw  issuing  from  the  press 
such  books  as  *'  Zelauto,  the  fountaine  of  Fame  .  .  . 
containing  a  delicate  disputation  .  .  .  given  for  a 
friendly  entertainment  to  Euphues  at  his  late  arrival 
into  England/'  by  Munday,  1580  ;  or  as  "  Euphues  his 
censure  to  Philautus,  wherein  is  presented  a  philo- 
sophicall  combat  betweene  Hector  and  Achylles,"  by 
Robert  Greene,  1587  :  "Gentlemen,"  says  the  author  to 
the  readers,  "  by  chance,  some  of  Euphues  loose  papers 
came  to  my  hand,  wherein  hee  writ  to  his  friend  Philautus 
from  Silexedra,  certaine  principles  necessary  to  bee 
observed  by  every  souldier."  Or  there  was  *'  Menaphon, 
Camillas  alarum  to  slumbering  Euphues,"  by  the  same, 
1589;  "  Rosalynde,  Euphues  golden  legacie,  found  after 
his  death  in  his  cell  at  Silexedra,"  by  Thomas  Lodge, 
1590  ;  "  Arisbas,  Euphues  amidst  his  slumbers,"  by  John 
Dickenson,  1594,  &c.  ^  All  these  authors  continued:'' 
their  model's  work  in  contributing  to  the  development  \ 
of  literature  written  chiefly  for  ladies ;  in  that  way  t 
especially  was  Lyly's  initiative  fruitful.  ^ 

Barnabe  Riche,  for  example,  publishes  "  Don  Simo- 

^"  Prose  and  Verse"  by  John  Dickenson,  ed.  Grosart,  Man- 
chester, 1878,  4to.  At  a  later  date  Dickenson  took  Greene  for 
his  model  when  he  wrote  his  "  Greene  in  conceipt  new  raised 
from  his  grave,  to  write  the  tragique  history  of  the  faire  Valeria  of 
London,"  1598.  In  this  Dickenson  imitates  Greene's  descriptions 
of  the  life  of  the  courtezans  of  London  (Troy-novant).  See 
infra^  pp.  187  et  seq. 


LYLY'S  LEGATEES,  147 

nides,"!  a  story  of  a  foreigner  who  travels  in  Italy 
and  then  comes  to  London,  like  Euphues,  mixes 
in  good  society,  and  makes  the  acquaintance  of  Phi- 
lautus ;  he  writes  this  romance  "  for  the  amuse- 
ment of  our  noble  gentilmen  as  well  as  of  our 
honourable  ladies."  He  wrote  also  a  series  of  short 
stories,-  this  time  ''  for  the  onely  delight  of  the 
courteous  gentlewoemen  bothe  of  England  and  Ire- 
lande  ; "  and,  for  fear  they  should  forget  his  design  of 
solely  pleasing  them,  he  addresses  them  directly  in 
the  course  of  his  narrative  :  ''  Now,  gentil women,  doe 
you  thinke  there  could  have  been  a  greater  torment 
devised,  wherewith  to  afflicte  the  harte  of  Silla  ?  " 
Shakespeare,  an  assiduous  reader  of  collections  of  this 
kind,  and  who,  unfortunately  for  their  authors,  has 
not  transmitted  his  taste  to  posterity,  was  acquainted 
with  Riche's  tales,  and  drew  from  this  same  story  of 
Silla  the  principal  incidents  of  his  "  Twelfth  Night." 
Riche  himself  had  taken  it  from  the  "  Histoires 
tragiques "  of  Belleforest,  and  Belleforest  had  tran- 
slated it  from  Bandello. 

Mimday's  Zelauto  3   is  also  a  traveller.     A  son  of 

^"The  straunge  and  wonderfull  Adventures  of  Don  Simonides," 
London,  1581,  4to  ;  in  1584  appeared  "The  second  tome  of  the 
travailes  ...  of  Don  Simonides." 

2  "  Riche  his  Farewell  to  Militarie  profession  :  Conteining  verie 
pleasaunt  discourses  fit  for  a  peaceable  tyme.  Gathered  together 
for  the  onely  delight  of  the  Courteous  Gentlewoemen  bothe  of 
England  and  Irelande,  for  whose  onely  pleasure  thei  were  collected 
together,  and  unto  whom  thei  are  directed  and  dedicated,"  London, 
1 58 1,  4to.  By  the  same  :  "The  Adventures  of  Brusanus,  Prince 
of  Hungaria,"  1592  ;  "  Greenes  newes  both  from  heaven  and 
hell,"  1593,  &c. 

3  London,  1580,  4to.     One  copy  in  the  Bodleian  Library. 


1 48  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

the  Duke  of  Venice,  he  goes  on  his  travels,  after  the 
example  of  Euphues,  visiting  Naples  and  Spain,  where 
he  falls  "  in  the  company  of  certain  English  merchants,'' 
very  learned  merchants,  "  who,  in  the  Latin  tongue,  told 
him  the  happy  estate  of  England  and  how  a  worthy 
princes  governed  their  common  wealth."  He  comes 
accordingly  to  this  country,  for  which  he  feels  an  admira- 
tion equal  to  Euphues'  own.  From  thence  he  "  takes 
shipping  into  Persia,"  and  visits  Turkey,  prepared  upon 
any  emergency  to  fight  valiantly  or  to  speak  eloquently, 
his  hand  and  tongue  being  equally  ready  with  thrusts 
and  parries,  or  comparisons  and  similes. 

Again  we  find  Lyly's  manner  in  Melbancke's 
''Philotimus,"  I  1583,  a  book  full,  as  **  Euphues,"  of 
letters,  dialogues,  and  philosophical  discussions,  and  in 
Warner's  *'  Pan  his  Syrinx,"  1 584.  Warner,  whose  fame 
mainly  rests  on  his  long  poem,  "  Albion's  England," 
published  in  1586,  began  his  literary  career  as  a  novelist 
of  the  euphuistic  school.  In  common  with  many 
youths  of  all  times,  of  whom  Lyly  was  one,  he  was 
scarcely  out  of  "  non-age,"  to  use  his  own  word,  than 
he  wanted  to  impart  to  his  fellow-men  his  experience 
of  a  life,  for  him  just  begun,  and  to  teach  them  how  to 
behave  in  a  world  of  which  he  knew  only  the  outside. 
He  lands  his  hero,  Sorares,  'Mn  a  sterile  and  harborlesse 
island,"  not  a  rare  occurrence  even  in  novels  anterior  to 
Defoe  ;  Sorares'  sons  start  to  find  him.  Both  they  and 
their  father  meet  with  sundry  adventures,  in  the  course 
of  which  they  tell  or  hear  stories  and  take  part  in 
various  "  controversies  and  complayntes."    Many  topics 

^  "Philotimus,  the  wane  betwixt  nature  and  fortune,"'  London, 
1583,  4to.     A  copy  in  the  Bodleian  Library. 


ZVLV'S  LEGATEES.  149 

are  philosophically  discussed  ;  the  chief  being,  as  in 
Lyly,  woman.  One  of  the  speakers  puts .  forward  the 
assertion  that  there  may  be,  after  all,  some  good  in 
women ;  but  another  demonstrates  that  there  is  none 
at  all  ;  and  that  their  name  of  *^  wo-man  "  contains  their 
truest  definition.  Whereupon,  we  are  treated  once 
more  to  a  description  of  dresses  and  fashions  :  *'  Her 
face  painted,  her  beautie  borrowed,  her  haire  an  others, 
and  that  frisled,  her  gestures  enforced,  her  lookes  pre- 
meditated, her  backe  bolstred,  her  breast  bumbasted, 
her  shoulders  bared  and  her  middle  straite  laced,  and 
then  is  she  in  fashion  !  "  Of  course  this  does  not  apply 
to  English,  but  to  Scythian  and  Assyrian  ladies.  This 
description  is  followed,  as  in  Lyly,  by  a  proper  antidote, 
and  with  a  number  of  rules  to  be  observed  by  all  the 
honest  people  who  desire  to  escape  the  wiles  of  the 
feminine  sex. 

Warner's  book  had  some  success  ;  it  reached  a  second 
edition  in  1597,^  in  which  the  author  states  that  two 
writers,  at  least,  copied  him,  sometimes  *' verbatim" 
without  any  acknowledgment ;  one  of  them  seems  to 
have  been  no  less  a  person  than  Robert  Greene,  "  a 
scholler,"  says  Warner,  "  better  than  my  selfe  on  whose 
grave  the  grasse  now  groweth  green,  whom  otherwise, 
though  otherwise  to  me  guiltie,  I  name  not."  Several 
incidents  in  Greene's  works  resemble  Warner's  stories, 
especially  the  one  called  "  Opheltes,"  the  plot  of  which 
forciblv  reminds  us  of  "  Francesco's  Fortunes,"  and  at 


^  "  Syrinx  or  a  seavenfold  historie  .  .  .  newly  perused  and 
amended  by  the  original  author,"  London,  1597,  4to.  Warner  died 
in  1609. 


150  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL, 

the  same  time  of  a  different  work  of  greater  fame,  the 
"  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona."  ^ 

When  Warner  spoke,  apparently,  of  Greene  as  a 
"  scholler  "  better  than  himself  he  was  quite  right,  and 
as  a  matter  of  fact,  Lyly's  two  most  famous  disciples 
were  Thomas  Lodge,  a  friend  of  Riche,  who  helped  him 
to  revise  his  works  and  corrected  his  faulty  verses,  and 
Robert  Greene,  a  novelist  and  dramatist  like  Lodge  and 
Lyly,  and  a  friend  of  the  former.  Endowed  with  a  less 
calm  and  sociable  temperament  than  their  model,  Greene 
and  Lodge  led  a  chequered  existence  very  characteristic 
of  their  epoch. 


n. 


With  Robert  Greene  we  are  in  the  midst  of 
Bohemia,  not  exactly  the  Bohemia  which  Miirger 
described  and  which  dies  in  the  hospital  :  the  hospital 


^  "Episodeof  Julia  and  Proteus."  This  episode  has  been  traced 
to  the  story  of  the  shepherdess  Felismena,  in  Montemayor's 
*'  Diana."  But  Shakespeare  may  have  taken  some  hints  also  from 
Warner.  Opheltes  (Proteus)  married  (not  betrothed)  to  the 
virtuous  Alcippe  (Julia),  goes  to  "  Sardis,"  where  he  becomes 
acquainted  (in  the  same  manner  as  Greene's  Francesco)  with  the 
courtesan  Phoemonoe  (Greene's  Infida).  Alcippe  hears  of  it,  and 
wants  at  least  to  be  able  to  see  her  husband ;  she  enters  the  service 
of  the  courtesan,  and  there  suffers  a  moral  martyrdom.  Opheltes 
is  ruined,  and,  in  words  which  Greene  nearly  copied,  "  Phoemonoe 
not  brooking  the  cumbersome  haunt  of  so  beggerly  a  guest, 
with  outragious  tearms  flatly  forbad  him  her  house."  Alcippe 
makes  herself  known,  and  all  ends  well  for  the  couple. 


LYLTS  LEGATEES.  151 

corresponds  in  some  manner  to  ideas  of  order  and  rule  ; 
under  Elizabeth  men  remained  irregular  to  the  end  ; 
hterary  men  who  were  not  physicians  hke  Lodge,  or 
shareholders  in  a  theatre  like  Shakespeare,  or  subsidized 
by  the  Court  like  Ben  Jonson,  died  of  hunger  in  the 
gutter,  or  of  indigestion  at  a  neighbour's  house,  or  of 
a  sword-thrust  in  the  tavern.  Therein  is  one  of  the 
peculiarities  of  the  period.  It  distinguishes  the  Bohemia 
of  Elizabeth  from  other  famous  Bohemias,  that  of  Grub 
Street,  known  to  Dr.  Johnson,  and  that  of  the  quartier 
latin  described  by  Miirger. 

Greene  was  one  of  the  most  original  specimens  of 
the  unfortunate  men  who  in  the  time  of  Elizabeth  ^ 
attempted  to  live  by  their  pen.  He  was  as  remarkable 
for  his  extravagances  of  conduct  as  for  his  talents, 
sometimes  gaining  money  and  fame  by  the  success  of  his 
writings,  sometimes  sinking  into  abject  poverty  and 
consorting  with  the  outcasts  of  society.  Of  all  the 
writers  of  the  Elizabethan  period  he  is  perhaps  the 
one  whose  life  and  character  we  can  best  picture  to 
ourselves  ;  for  in  his  last  years,  repentant  and  sorrow- 
stricken,  he  wrote  with  the  utmost  sincerity  autobio- 
graphical tales  and  pamphlets,  which  are  invaluable  as 
a  picture  'of  the  times  ;  they  are,  in  fact,  nothing  else 
than  the  "  Scenes  de  la  vie  de  Boheme  "  of  Elizabethan 
England. 

In  these  books  Greene  gives  us  the  key  to  his  own 
character,  to  his  many  adventures,  and  to  his  miserable 
end.  There  were  two  separate  selves  in  him,  and  they 
proved  incompatible.  One  was  full  of  reasonable, 
sensible,  and  somewhat  bourgeois  tendencies,  highly 
appreciating  honour,  respectability,  decorum,  civic  and 


1 5  2  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

patriotic  virtues  ;  of  women  liking  only  those  that 
were  pure,  of  men  those  that  were  honest,  religious 
and  good  citizens.  Greene's  other  self  was  not,  properly 
speaking,  the  counterpart  of  the  first,  and  had  no  taste 
for  vices  as  vices,  nor  for  disorder  as  disorder, 
but  was  wholly  and  solely  bent  upon  enjoyment^ 
immediate  enjoyment  whatever  be  the  sort,  the  cost,  or 
the  consequence.  Hence  the  glaring  discrepancies  in 
Greene's  life,  his  faults,  not  to  say  his  crimes,  his  sudden 
short-lived  repentances,  his  supplications  to  his  friends 
y  not  to  imitate  his  example,  his  incapacity  to  follow 
steadily  one  course  or  the  other.  His  better  self  kept- 
his  writings  free  from  vice,  but  was  powerless  to  control 
his  conduct.  This  struggle  between  the  forces  of  good 
and  evil  is  exceedingly  well  depicted  in  Greene's 
Repentances,  under  his  own  or  fictitious  names ;  of 
all  the  heroes  of  his  tales  he  is  himself  the  most 
interesting  and  the  most  deeply  studied.  As  a  novel 
writer  and  an  observer  of  human  nature,  his  own  por- 
trait is  perhaps  his  masterpiece. 

Greene  was  born  at  Norwich  about  1560,  and 
belonged  to  a  family  in  easy  circumstances.  He  was 
sent  to  Cambridge,  where  he  was  admitted  to  St.  John's 
College  on  November,  1575.  There,  according  to  a 
propensity  that  was  inborn,  he  at  once  associated  with 
noisy,  unprincipled  young  fellows.  This  propensity 
accompanied  him  through  life,  and  led  him  to  con- 
stantly surround  himself  with  a  rabble  of  merry  com- 
•J  panions,  to  be  greatly  liked  by  them,  but  to  make  few 
sincere  friends,  and  to  quarrel  with  these  very  often, 
to  drop  their  acquaintance,  to  befriend  them  again, 
and  so  on  to  the  last. 


LYL  Y'S  LEGATEES,  153 

The  universities  at  that  time  were  not  places  of 
edification  ;  and  Lyly,  who  during  the  same  period  had 
a  personal  experience  of  them,  was  careful  when, 
shortly  afterwards,  he  wrote  his  advice  for  the  educa- 
tion of  **  Ephoebus  "  to  warn  fathers  of  the  dangers 
of  university  life  :  "  To  speak  plainly  of  the  disorder 
of  Athens  [that  is,  Oxford]  who  does  not  se  it  and 
sorrow  at  it?  Such  playing  at  dice,  such  quaffing  of 
drink,  such  daliaunce  with  women,  such  dauncing, 
that  in  my  opinion  there  is  no  quaffer  in  Flaunders 
so  given  to  tipplyng,  no  courtier  in  Italy  so  given 
to  ryot,  no  creature  in  the  world  so  misled  as  a 
student  in  Athens."  Many  return  from  the  uni- 
versities *'  little  better  learned,  but  a  great  deal  worse 
lived,  then  when  they  went,  and  not  only  unthrifts 
of  their  money,  but  also  banckerouts  of  good  man- 
ners/' I 

Greene  did  not  fail  to  choose  his  associates  among 
people  of  this  sort,  and  with  some  of  them  he  crossed 
over  to  the  continent  in  his  turn  to  visit  '^  Circe."" 
'^  Being  at  the  University  of  Cambridge,  I  light 
amongst  wags  as  lewd  as  my  selfe,  with  whome  I  con- 
sumed the  flower  of  my  youth,  who  drew  me  to  travell 
into  Italy  and  Spaine,  in  which  places  I  saw  and  prac- 
tizde  such  villainie  as  is  abhominable  to  declare.  .  .  ." 
He  comes  back,  and  after  the  pleasures  and  excite- 
ment of  travel,  ordinary  every-day  life  seems  to  him 
tasteless  ;  the  mere  idea  of  a  regular  career  of  any  sort 
is  abhorrent  to  him.  '^  At  my  return  into  England,  I 
ruffeled  out  in  my  silks,  in  the  habit  of  Malcontent^  and 
seemed  so  discontent  that  no  place  would  please  me  to 
^  Arber's  reprint,  pp.  139  and  141. 
9 


154  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

abide  in,  nor  no  vocation  cause  mee  to  stay  myselfe 
in."  I 

In  this  uncertainty,  and  with  his  head  full  of  Italian 
remembrances  and  romantic  adventures,  he  thought, 
being  not  yet  twenty,  to  try  his  hand  at  writing.  His 
first  attempt  was  a  novel,  a  love  story  in  the  Italian 
fashion,  in  which  very  much  loving  was  to  do  for  very 
little  probability  and  less  observation  of  character  and 
nature.  It  was  called  "  Mamillia  "  ;  it  was  finished  in 
1580,  and  published  three  years  later. 

Greene  at  that  time  was  again  in  Cambridge,  and 
strange  to  say,  among  the  many  whims  that  crossed  his 
mind,  a  fancy  took  him  to  apply  himself  to  study. 
Gifted  as  he  was,  this  caused  him  no  trouble  ;  he 
acquired  much  varied  knowledge,  of  which  his  writings 
show  sufficient  proof,  and  was  received  M.A.  in  1583.2 
He  then  left  the  universitv  and  went  to  London,  where 
the  most  curious  part  of  his  life,  that  was  to  last  only 
nine  years  longer,  began. 

^  "The  Repentance  of  Robert  Greene,"  1592.  "Works,"  ed. 
Grosart,  vol.  xii.  p.  172. 

2  He  belonged  then  to  Clare  Hall  ;  the  preface  to  the  second 
part  of  "  Mamillia "  (entered  1583)  is  dated  "  from  my  studie  in 
Clarehall."  Later  in  life  he  seems  to  have  again  felt  the  want  of 
increasing  his  knowledge,  and  he  was,  for  a  while,  incorporated 
at  Oxford,  July,  1588  ;  he,  therefore,  describes  himself  on  the 
title-page  of  some  of  his  works,  not  without  touch  of  pride,  as- 
belonging  to  both  universities.  In  common  with  his  friend  Lodge 
he  had  a  taste  for  medical  studies,  and  he  appears  to  have  attempted 
to  open  to  himself  a  career  of  this  kind  ;  he  styles  himself  on  the 
title-page  of  "  Planetomachia,"  1585,  as  "Student  in  Phisicke," 
but  as  he  never  gave  himself  any  higher  appellation  we  may  take  it 
for  granted  that  he  never  went  beyond  the  preliminaries. 


LYLY'S  LEGATEES.  155 

The  reception  awarded  to  *'  Mamillia  "  seems  to  have 
encouraged  him  to  continue  writing.  It  had,  in  fact, 
crude  as  it  seems  to  us  now,  many  quahties  that  would 
ensure  it  a  welcome  :  its  style  was  euphuistic  ;  its  tone 
was  Italian  ;  its  plot  was  intricate,  and,  lastly,  there  was 
very  much  love  in  it.  He  continued  therefore  in  this 
vein,  writing  with  extreme  facility  and  rapidity  im- 
probable love  stories,  with  wars,  kings,  and  princesses, 
with  euphuism  and  mythology,  with  Danish,  Greek, 
Egyptian  and  Bohemian  adventures.  There  was  a 
*' Myrrour  of  Modesty"  which  has  for  its  heroine  the 
chaste  Susannah,  a  '^  Gwydonius,  the  card  of  fancie," 
again  a  tale  in  the  Italian  style,  an  "  Arbasto  "  which 
tells  of  the  wars  and  loves  of  a  Danish  king,  a  "  Morando,'* 
containing  a  series  of  discussions  and  speeches  on  love, 
all  of  them  entered  or  published  in  1584-6.  Then  came 
his  "  Planetomachia,"  1585,  where  the  several  planets 
describe  and  exemplify  their  influence  on  human  fate ; 
'^  Penelopes  web,"  1587,  containing  a  succession  of  short 
stories;  '' Perimedes,"  1588,  imitated  from  Boccaccio; 
"  Pandosto,"  a  tale  of  Bohemian  and  Sicilian  kings  and 
shepherds,  which  had  an  immense  success,  much  greater 
according  to  appearances  than  the  exquisite  drama  of 
a  '' Winter's  Tale,"  that  Shakespeare  drew  from  it. 
"  Alcida,"  a  story  of  the  metamorphosis  of  three  young 
love-stricken  princesses  of  an  island  '^  under  the  pole 
antartike,"  was  apparently  published  in  the  same  year  ; 
"  Menaphon,"  a  charming  pastoral  tale,  appeared  in 
1589,  and  several  others  followed.  His  popularity  was 
soon  considerable  ;  his  books  were  in  all  the  shops  ; 
several  went  through  an  extraordinary  number  of 
editions ;  his  name   was  better  known  than   any  :   '^  I 


156  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL, 

became,"  says  he,  "  an  author  of  playes,  and  a  penner  of 
love  pamphlets,  so  that  I  soone  grew  famous  in  that 
qualitie,"  and  who  then  "  for  that  trade "  was  there 
"  so  ordinarie  about  London  as  Robin  Greene  ?  "  ^ 

As  for  his  beginning  to  write  plays,  he  has  left  a 
lively  account  of  the  casual  meeting  which  led  to  his 
becoming  attached  to  a  company  of  players  and  to  be 
for  a  time  their  playwright  in  ordinary.  It  was  at  a 
moment  when  his  purse  was  empty  ;  for  as  he  quaintly 
puts  it  in  one  of  his  stories  :  '*  so  long  went  the  pot  to 
the  water,  that  at  last  it  came  broken  home  ;  and  so  long 
put  he  his  hand  into  his  purse  that  at  last  the  emptie 
bottome  returned  him  a  writt  of  non  est  inventus ;  for 
well  might  the  divell  dance  there  for  ever  a  crosse  to 
keepe  him  backe."  ^  In  this  difficulty  he  met  by  chance 
a  brilliantly  dressed  fellow  who  seemed  to  be  a  cavalier, 
and  happened  to  be  a  player.  It  is  a  well-known  fact 
that  if  scenery  was  scanty  in  Elizabethan  play-houses, 
the  players'  dresses  were  very  costly,  and  if  need  there 
was,  this  would  be  an  additional  proof  that  no  mone- 
tary consideration  would  have  induced  the  young  man 
who  played,  for  example,  the  part  of  Shakespeare's 
Cleopatra,  to  appear  in  less  than  queenly  ruffs  and 
farthingales,  such  as  Rogers  has  represented  in  his 
portrait  of  Elizabeth. 

"  What  is  your  profession  ?  said  Roberto  [that  is, 
Robert  Greene]. 3 

^  "The  Repentance  of  Robert  Greene,"  1592,  "Works"  vol. 
xii.  p.  173. 

2  "Greene's  never  too  late,"  1590,  "Works,"  vol.  viii.  p.  loi. 

3  "  Greene's  Groats-worth  of  wit,"  1592,  "Works,"  vol.  xii.  pp. 
131^^  se^.  "  Roberto  .  .  .  whose  life  in  most  parts  agreeing  with 
mine,  found  one  selfe  punishment  as  I  have  done  "  (IhW.  p.  137). 


LYLY'S  LEGATEES.  157 

"  Truely,  sir,  said  he,  I  am  a  player. 

"  A  player,  quoth  Roberto  ;  I  tooke  you  rather 
for  a  gentleman  of  great  living,  for  if  by  outward 
habit  men  should  be  censured,  I  tell  you,  you  woud  be 
taken  for  a  substantial!  man. 

"So  am  I,  where  I  dwell,  quoth  the  player,  re- 
puted able  at  my  proper  cost,  to  build  a  windmill. 
What,  though  the  worlde  once  went  hard  with  me,  when 
I  was  faine  to  carrie  my  playing  fardle  a  footebacke  ; 
tempora  mutantur  ...  it  is  otherwise  now  ;  for  my  share 
in  playing  apparell  will  not  be  solde  for  two  hundred 
pounds." 

The  player  goes  on  relating  his  own  successes,  the 
parts  he  performs,  and  how  he  had  been  himself  for  a 
while  the  playwright  of  his  troop,  but  that  had  been 
some  time  ago  ;  tastes  are  changing  and  his  wit  is  now 
out  of  fashion  :  "  Nay,  more,  I  can  serve  to  make  a 
prettie  speech,  for  I  was  a  countrie  author,  passing  at 
a  morall,  for  it  was  I  that  pende  the  moral  of  mans 
wit,  the  Dialogue  of  Dives,  and  for  seaven  yeeres  space 
was  absolute  interpreter  of  the  puppets.  But  now  my 
Almanacke  is  out  of  date  : 

The  people  make  no  estimation 
Of  morals  teaching  education, 

"  Was  not  this  prettie  for  a  plaine  rime  extempore  ? 
If  ye  will,  ye  shall  have  more. 

"  Nay,  it  is  enough,  said  Roberto,  but  how  meane 
you  to  use  mee  ? 

"  Why,  sir,  in  making  playes,  said  the  other,  for 
which  you  shall  be  well  paid,  if  you  will  take  the 
paines." 


158  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

Greene  did  so,  and  with  no  mean  success.  He  grew 
more  and  more  famous,  and,  without  becoming  more 
wealthy,  had  the  pleasure  of  being  able  to  squander  at 
one  time  much  larger  sums  of  money  than  before  : 
*'  Roberto  was  now  famozed  for  an  arch-playmaking- 
poet  ;  his  purse,  like  the  sea,  somtime  sweld,  anon  like 
the  same  sea  fell  to  a  low  ebb  ;  yet  seldom  he  wanted, 
his  labors  were  so  well  esteemed." 

He  had  not  yet  broken  all  connection  with  his  birth- 
place and  his  family,  and  some  of  his  visits  were  for 
him  memorable  ones.  During  one  of  them  he  was 
seized  with  a  sudden  fit  of  repentance  for  the  loose  life 
he  had  been  leading  in  London  ;  the  better  man  in 
him  made  himself  heard,  and  he  fell  into  such  an  abyss 
of  misery  and  despair  as  to  remind  us  of  the  great 
conversions  of  the  Puritan  epoch.  In  fact,  his  com- 
panions, when  he  again  saw  them,  wondering  at  his 
altered  countenance,  called  him  a  Puritan.  *'  Once  I 
felt  a  feare  and  horrour  in  my  conscience,  and  then  the 
terrour  of  Gods  judgementes  did  manifestly  teach  me 
that  my  life  was  bad,  that  by  sinne  I  deserved  damna- 
tion, and  that  such  was  the  greatnes  of  my  sinne  that 
I  deserved  no  redemption.  And  this  inward  motion 
I  received  in  St.  Andrews  church  in  the  cittie  of 
Norwich,  at  a  lecture  or  sermon  then  preached  by  a 
godly  learned  man.  ...  At  this  sermon  the  terrour 
of  Gods  judgementes  did  manifestly  teach  me,  that 
mv  exercises  were  damnable,  and  that  I  should  bee 
wipte  out  of  the  booke  of  life,  if  I  did  not  speedily 
repent  my  loosenes  of  life,  and  reforme  my  misde- 
meanors." 

In  the  same  way,  in  the  next  century,  George  Fox  the 


LYLY'S  LEGATEES.  159 

Quaker,  John  Bunyan,  and  many  others,  were  to  find 
themselves  awe-stricken  at  the  thought  of  God's  judg- 
ment ;  in  the  same  way  also,  and  in  almost  the  same 
words,  the  hero  of  a  novel  that  was  to  be  world-famous 
in  the  following  age  was  to  express  the  sudden  horror 
he  felt  when  remorse  began  to  prey  upon  him.  ''  No 
one,"  wrote  Robinson  Crusoe,  in  his  journal,  '^  that 
shall  ever  read  this  account  will  expect  that  I  shall  be 
able  to  describe  the  horrors  of  my  soul  at  this  terrible 
vision."  But  Greene  differed  from  them  all  by  the 
short  duration  of  his  anxieties  :  "  This  good  notion 
lasted  not  long  in  mee,  for  no  sooner  had  I  met  with 
my  copesmates,  but  seeing  me  in  such  a  solemn  humour, 
they  demaunded  the  cause  of  my  sadnes  .  .  .  they  fell 
upon  me  in  a  jeasting  manner,  calling  me  Puritane  and 
Presizian,  and  wished  I  might  have  a  pulpit."  And 
soon  the  good  effect  of  the  godly  vision  in  St.  Andrew's 
church  wore  away. 

He  allowed  another  chance  of  escaping  his  final  doom 
to  pass  in  the  same  manner.  Famous  as  he  was  all 
over  the  country,  witty  and  brilliant,  with  such  patrons 
as  Leicester,  Essex  and  Arundel,  to  whom  several  of 
his  works  are  dedicated,  he  became  acquainted  with  "  a 
gentlemans  daughter  of  good  account."  He  loved  her  ; 
his  suit  was  favoured,  and  he  married  her,  about  1586. 
He  lived  with  her  for  a  year  and  they  had  a  boy  ;  but 
she  objected  to  his  disorderly  ways  of  life,  and  he, 
unable  to  alter  them,  ''  cast  her  off^,  having  spent 
the  marriage  money."  She  returned  to  Lincolnshire, 
he  to  London,  and  they  never  met  again.  That 
Greene,  however,  had  felt  within  himself  what  it  is  to 
be    a  father   is  shown   by  the  exquisite  "  lullaby  "  he 


1 60  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

composed  shortly  after  for  Sephestia  in  his  "  Menaphon." 
It  is  the  well-known  song  : 

"Weepe  not  my  wanton  !  smile  upon  my  knee  ! 
When  thou  art  olde,  ther's  griefe  inough  for  thee  ! 
Mothers  wagge,  pretie  boy, 
Fathers  sorrow,  fathers  joy. 
When  thy  father  first  did  see 
Such  a  boy  by  him  and  mee. 
He  was  glad,  I  was  woe. 
Fortune  changde  made  him  so, 
When  he  left  his  pretie  boy, 
Last  his  sorowe,  first  his  joy. 

Weepe  not  my  wanton  !   smile  upon  my  knee  ! 
When  thou  art  olde,  ther's  griefe  inough  for  thee  ! 

The  wanton  smilde,  father  wept ; 

Mother  cride,  babie  lept  : 

More  he  crowde,  more  we  cride  ; 

Nature  could  not  sorowe  hide. 

He  must  goe,  he  must  kisse 

Childe  and  mother,  babie  blisse  : 

For  he  left  his  pretie  boy, 

Fathers  sorowe,  fathers  joy." 

In  London  he  continued  a  favourite  :  "  For  these 
my  vaine  discourses  [that  is,  his  love  novels]  I  was 
beloved  of  the  more  vainer  sort  of  people,  who  being 
my  continuall  companions  came  still  to  my  lodging, 
and  there  would  continue  quaffing,  corowsing,  and 
surfeting  with  me  all  the  day  long."  One  of  his 
best  friends  has  corroborated  his  statement,  giving  at 
the  same  time  a  graphic  description  of  his  physical 
appearance  :  "  Hee  inherited  more  vertues  than  vices,'* 
wrote  Nash,  "  a  jolly  long  red  peake  [beard]  like  the 
spire    of    a    steeple    he    cherisht    continually,    without 


LYLY'S  LEG  A  TEES,  1 6 1 

cutting,  whereat  a  man  might  hang  a  Jewell,  it  was  so 
sharp  and  pendant.  .  .  He  had  his  faultes.  .  .  Debt 
and  deadly  sinne,  who  is  not  subject  to  ?  .  .A  good 
fellow  he  was.  .  .  In  a  night  and  a  day  would  he  have 
yarkt  up  a  pamphlet  as  well  as  in  seaven  yeare,  and  glad 
was  that  printer  that  might  bee  so  blest  to  pay  him 
deare  for  the  very  dregs  of  his  wit.  He  made  no 
account  of  winning  credite  by  his  workes.  .  .  His 
only  care  was  to  have  a  spel  in  his  purse  to  conjure  up 
a  good  cuppe  of  wine  with  at  all  times."  ^ 

The  few  samples  that  have  come  to  us  of  the  talk 
in  these  meetings  of  Elizabethan  literary  men  show,  as 
might  well  have  been  supposed,  that  it  was  not  lacking 
in  freedom.  Greene  himself  has  left  an  account  of  one 
of  these  conversations,  when  he  expressed,  Bohemia- 
wise,  his  opinions  of  a  future  life  and,  without  Aucassin's 
extenuating  plea  that  he  was  love-mad,  he  exclaimed  : 
"  Hell,  quoth  I,  what  talke  you  of  hell  to  me  }  I  know 
if  I  once  come  there,  I  shall  have  the  company  of  better 
men  than  my  selfe  ;  I  shall  also  meete  with  some  madde 
knaves  in  that  place,  and  so  long  as  I  shall  not  sit  there 
alone,  my  care  is  the  lesse.  But  you  are  mad  folks, 
quoth  I,  for  if  I  feared  the  judges  of  the  Bench  no 
more  than  I  dread  the  judgments  of  God,  I  would 
before  T  slept  dive  into  one  carles  bagges  or  other,  make 
merrie  with  the  shelles  I  found  in  them  so  long  as  they 
would  last."  2 

^  "  Strange  Newes,"  1592.  A  rough  engraving,  showing  Greene 
at  his  writing  table,  is  to  be  seen  on  the  title-page  of  "  Greene  in 
conceipt,"  a  novel  by  T.  Dickenson,  1598;  his  "  peake  "  exists, 
but  is  not  quite  so  long  as  Nash's  description  would  have  led  us  to 
expect. 

^  "Repentance,"  "Works,"  vol.  xii.  p.  164, 


/ 


i62  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

His  associations  at  that  time  were  getting  lower  and 
lower.  He  was  leaving  Bohemia  for  the  mysterious 
haunts  of  robbers,  sharpers,  loose  women,  and  "  conny- 
catchers."  He  had  once  for  a  mistress  the  sister  of  a 
famous  thief  nicknamed  Cutting  Ball  that  ended  his 
days  on  the  gallows,  and  he  had  a  child  by  her,  called 
Fortunatus,  who  died  in  1593.  He  thought  it  a  sort 
of  atonement  to  communicate  to  the  public  the  ex- 
perience he  derived  from  his  life  among  these  people, 
and  accordingly  printed  a  series  of  books  on  "  conny- 
catching,"  in  which  he  unveiled  all  their  tricks  and 
malpractices.  The  main  result  was  that  they  wanted  to 
kill  him.  I 

It  was,  in  fact,  too  late  to  reform  ;  all  that  was  left  for 
him  was  to  repent,  an  empty  repentance  that  no  deed 
could  follow.  Though  scarcely  thirty  his  constitution 
was  worn  out.  The  alternations  of  excessive  cheer  and 
of  scanty  food  had  ruined  his  health  ;  it  was  soon  obvious 
that  he  could  not  live  much  longer.  One  day  a  "surfet 
which  hee  had  taken  with  drinking "  2  brought  him 
home  to  his  room,  in  a  poor  shoemaker's  house,  who 
allowed  him  to  stay  there  by  charity  on  credit.  He  was 
not  to  come  out  alive.  His  illness  lasted  some  weeks, 
and  as  his  brain  power  was  unimpaired  he  employed  his 

^  See  especially  vol.  x.  of  the  "Works."  Greene's  example  gave 
a  great  impetus  to  these  strange  kinds  of  works,  but  he  was  not  the 
first  to  compose  such  ;  several  came  before  him,  especially  T. 
Audeley,  with  his  "  Fraternitye  of  vacabondes,"  1560-1,  and 
Thomas  Harman,  "  A  caveat  or  warening  for  common  cursetors 
vulgarely  called  vagabones,"  1566  or  1567  ;  both  reprinted  by 
Viles  and  Furnivall,  Early  English  Text  Society,  1869, 

2  See  the  note  added  by  the  editor  to  his  "  Repcntance,"^ 
"Works,"  vol.  xii.  p.  184. 


LYLY'S  LEGATEES.  163 

time  in  writing  the  last  of  his  autobiographical  pam- 
phlets. Considering  the  extravagance  of  his  life,  in  which 
he  had  known  so  many  successes,  and  the  sorrows  of  his 
protracted  illness,  they  read  very  tragically  indeed.  He 
addressed  himself  to  the  public  at  large,  to  his  more 
intimate  friends,  to  his  wife  confessing  his  wrongs 
towards  her,  and  asking  pardon.  Yet  to  the  last, 
broken  as  he  was  in  body,  he  remained  a  literary  man, 
and  while  confessing  all  round  and  pardoning  every  one, 
he  could  not  drop  his  literary  animosities  nor  forget  his 
life-long  complaint  against  plagiarists. 

His  complaint  was  one  of  which  the  world  of  letters 
was  to  hear  much  more  in  after  time,  and  which  in  fact 
is  constantly  renewed  in  our  own  day  ;  it  is  the  com- 
plaint of  the  novelist  against  the  dramatist,  claiming  as  his 
own  incidents  transferred  by  the  playwright  from  readers 
to  spectators.  i\s  novels  proper  were  just  beginning 
then  in  England,  and  as  drama  was  also  beginning  to 
spread,  Greene's  protest  is  one  of  the  first  on  record, 
and  thousands  were  to  follow  it.  Strange  to  say  of  all 
the  men  of  whom  he  complains,  the  one  he  has  picked 
out  to  hold  up  to  disdain  and  to  scorn,  and  towards 
whom  in  his  dying  days  he  seems  to  have  entertained 
the  strongest  animosity,  was  a  young  man  of  twenty- 
eight,  who  was  just  then  becoming  known,  and  whose 
fame  was  to  increase  somewhat  in  aftei"  years,  namely, 
William  Shakespeare.  Greene  beseeches  the  three 
principal  friends  he  still  had,  Marlowe,  Nash,  and 
Peele,  to  cease  writing  plays  ;  what  is  the  good  of  it } 
others  come,  turn  to  account  what  has  been  written  before 
them,  give  never  a  thank-you  for  it,  and  get  the  praise. 
Let  them  stop  publishing  and  these  new-comers,  among 


1 64  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

them  this  "upstart"  Shakespeare,  unable  as  they  obviously 
are  to  invent  anything,  will  have  their  careers  cut  short. 
Be  warned  by  my  fate,  says  Greene,  and  mind  "  those 
puppits  .  .  .  that  speake  from  our  mouths,  those  anticks 
garnisht  in  our  colours.  Is  it  not  strange  that  I,  to 
whom  they  al  have  beene  beholding  :  is  it  not  like 
that  you  to  whome  they  all  have  been  beholding,  shall 
(were  ye  in  that  case  that  I  am  now)  be  both  at  once 
of  them  forsaken  ?  Yes,  trust  them  not,  for  there  is 
an  upstart  crow,  beautified  with  our  feathers,  that  with 
his  'Tigers  heart  wrapt  in  a  players  hide^  supposes  he  is 
as  well  able  to  bombast  out  a  blanke  verse  as  the  best 
of  you  ;  and  being  an  absolute  Joannes  fac  totum^  is  in 
his  owne  conceit  the  onely  shake-scene  in  a  countrie. 
O  that  I  might  intreate  your  rare  wits  to  be  imployed 
in  more  profitable  courses  :  and  let  those  apes  imitate 
your  past  excellence  and  never  more  acquaint  them  with 
your  rare  inventions."  ^ 

This  savage  abuse  of  young  Shakespeare,  who  had 
probably  mended  at  that  time  more  plays  than  we 
know,  and  more,  surely,  than  he  had  personally  written, 
must  not  pass  without  the  needful  comment  that  his 
abuser  was,  according  to  his  own  testimony,  as  ready, 
for  a  trifle,  to  make  an  acquaintance  and  start  a  friend- 
ship as  to  turn  a  friend  into  a  foe.  "  Though,"  says  he, '"  I 

^  Epilogue  to  the  "  Groats-worth  of  wit,"  directed  "  to  those 
gentlemen,  his  quondam  acquaintance,  that  spend  their  wits  in 
making  plaies,"  "Works,"  vol.  xii.  p.  144.  The  verse  quoted  by 
Greene  occurs  in  the  third  part  of  Henry  VI.,  with  the  difference 
of  "  womans "  for  "  players."  About  this,  see  Furnivall,  Intro- 
duction to  the  "  Leopold  Shakspere,"  p.  xvi.  As  to  the  identifica- 
tion of  Greene's  three  friends,  see  Grosart's  memorial  introduction 
and  Storojenko's  "Life,"  in  "  Works,"  vol.  i. 


LYLY'S  LEGATEES.  165 

knew  how  to  get  a  friend,  yet  I  had  not  the  gift  or  reason 
how  to  keepe  a  friend."  He  quarrelled,  in  fact,  with 
most  of  them,  not  excepting  Nash  and  Marlowe,  to  whom 
he  is  now  appealing  against  Shakespeare  ;  and  his  pre- 
faces contain  numerous  attacks  on  the  writers  of  the 
time.  It  must  be  remembered,  too,  how  bitter  was  the 
end  of  poor  Greene,  how  keenly  he  felt,  he  the  boon 
companion  par  excellence^  finding  himself  "  forsaken  " 
in  his  need,  and  left  alone  in  the  shoemaker's  desolate 
room.  It  is  curious  to  think  that  among  the  men 
whose  absence  from  his  bedside  he  most  resented  was 
Shakespeare,  and  that  this  want  of  a  visit  whetted  his 
already  ill-disposed  mind  into  expressing  the  only  abuse 
known  to  have  been  directed  by  his  contemporaries 
against  the  author  of  "  Hamlet." 

Shakespeare,  of  course,  did  not  answer  ;  ^  his  plea 
might  have  been  that  if  he  did  not  pay  much  attention 
to  others'  authorship,  much  less  did  he  pay  to  his  own  ; 
for  he  never  published  his  own  dramas,  nor  did  he  ' 
protest  when  mangled  versions  of  them  were  circulated 
by  printers.  He  only  showed  that  Greene's  criticisms 
had  not  much  affected  him  by  turning  later  on  another 

^  The  exaggeration  in  the  attack  was  so  obvious  that  it  raised 
some  protest,  and  Henry  Chettle,  who  had  edited  Greene's 
"  Groats-worth  "  after  his  death,  felt  obliged  to  print  a  rectification 
in  his  next  book,  as  was  the  custom  then,  when  newspapers  did 
not  exist.  This  acknowledgment,  that  would  to-day  have  been  pub- 
lished in  the  Athe?ia:ii7n  or  the  Academy^  was  inserted  in  his  "  Kind 
Heart's  Dream,"  issued  in  the  same  year,  1592,  and  is  to  the  effect 
that  so  far  as  Shakespeare  (for  Chettle  can  allude  here  to  no  other) 
is  concerned  :  "  divers  of  worship  have  reported  his  uprightnes  of 
dealing,  which  argues  his  honesty,  and  his  facetious  grace  in  writing 
that  approoves  his  art." 


i66  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

of  the  complainer's  novels  into  a  drama.  Shakespeare's 
friend,  Ben  Jonson,  who  was  not  accustomed  to  so 
much  reserve,  speaks  very  disparagingly  of  Greene  ;  he 
represents  him  as  being  a  perfectly  forgotten  author  in 
1599,  which  was  untrue,  and  as  for  the  particular  work 
in  which  Shakespeare  was  abused,  he  describes  it  as  only 
fit  for  the  reading  of  crazy  persons. 

"  trusty.  .  .  Every  night  they  read  themselves 
asleep  on  those  books  [one  of  the  two  being  the 
"  Groats- worth  "]. 

"  Epicoene.  Good  faith  it  stands  with  good  reason.  I 
would  I  knew  where  to  procure  those  books. 

"  Morose.  Oh  ! 

"  Sir  Amorous  La  Foole,  I  can  help  you  with  one  of 
them,  mistress  Morose,  the  *  Groats -worth  of  wit.' 

'^  Epicoene.  But  I  shall  disfurnish  you,  Sir  Amorous, 
can  you  spare  it  ? 

''  La  Foole.  O  yes,  for  a  week  or  so  ;  I  shall  read  it 
myself  to  him,"  &c.i 

With  the  exception  just  mentioned,  Greene's  thoughts 
were  all  turned  to  repentance.  He  had  the  consolation 
of  receiving  from  his  wife  a  kindly  message  on  the  eve 
of  his  death,  ''whereat  hee  greatly  rejoiced,  confessed  that 
he  had  mightily  wronged  her,  and  wished  that  hee 
might  see  her  before  he  departed.  Whereupon,  feeling 
his  time  was  but  short,  hee  tooke  pen  and  inke  and 
wrote  her  a  letter  to  this  effect  : 

''  Sweet  wife,  as  ever  there  was  any  good  will  or 
friendship  betweene  thee  and  mee,  see  this  bearer  (my 
host)  satisfied  of  his  debt  :  I  owe  him  tenne  pound,  and 

^  "The  Silent  Woman,"  act  iv.  sc.  2  ;  and  "Every  man  out  of 
his  humour,"  act  ii.  sc.  i. 


LYLY'S  LEGATEES,  167 

but  for  him  I  had  perished  in  the  streetes.  Forget  and 
forgive  my  wronges  done  unto  thee,  and  Almighty  God 
have  mercie  on  my  soule.  Farewell  till  we  meet  in 
heaven,  for  on  earth  thou  shalt  never  see  me  more. 
This  2d  of  September,  1592.  Written  by  thy  dying 
husband."  ' 

He  died  a  day  after. 

III. 

Greene's  non-dramatic  works  are  the  largest  contribu- 
tion left  by  any  Elizabethan  writer  to  the  novel 
literature  of  the  day.  They  are  of  four  sorts  :  his 
novels  proper  or  romantic  love  stories,  which  he  called 
his  love  pamphlets  ;  his  patriotic  pamphlets  ;  his  conny- 
catching  writings,  in  which  he  depicts  actual  fact, 
and  tells  tales  of  real  life  forshadowing  in  some  degree 
Defoe's  manner  ;  lastly,  his  Repentances,  of  which  som 
idea  has  already  been  given. - 

^  "Repentance,"  "Works,"  vol.  xii.  p.  185. 

2  The  "Life  and  Complete  Works  "  of  Greene  have  been  pub- 
lished by  Dr.  Grosart,  London,  1881,  15  vols.  4to.  His  principal 
non-dramatic  writings  may  be  classified  as  follows  : 

1.  Ro?nantic  novels,  or  *''■  love  pa?nphlets^\'  "  Mamillia,"  1583  ; 
"The  second  part,"  1583  ;  "  Myrrour  of  Modestie,"  1584;  "  Card  of 
fancie,"  1584  (?) ;  "  Arbasto,"  1584  (?)  ;  "  Planetomachia,"  1585  ; 
"  M  or  an  do,  the  Tritameron  of  love,"  1586  (?);  "Second  part," 
1587;  "Debate  betweene  follie  and  love,"  1587;  "  Penelopes  web," 
1587;  "  Euphues  his  censure  to  Philautus,"  1587;  "  Perimedes," 
1588;  "Pandosto"  {alias  "Dorastus  and  Fawnia "),  1588; 
"Alcida,"  1588  (?);  "  Menaphon,"  1589;  "  Ciceronis  amor," 
[589  ;  "  Orpharion,"  1590  (?)  ;   "Philomela,"  1592. 

2.  Civic  and  patriotic  pamphlets  :  "  Spanish  Masquerado,"  1589; 
*'  Royal  Exchange,"  1590;   "Quip  for  an  upstart  courtier,"  1592. 

3.  Conny-catching  pamphleti  :  "A  notable  discovery  of  coosnage," 


\ 


1 68  THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL. 

His  love  pamphlets,  which  filled  the  greatest  part  of 
his  literary  career,  connect  him  with  the  euphuistic 
cycle,  and  he  is  assuredly  one  of  Lyly's  legatees.  Possess- 
ing a  much  greater  fertility  of  invention  than  Lyly,  he 
follows  as  closely  as  the  original  bent  of  his  mind  allows 
him,  the  manner  of  his  master.  He  is  euphuistic  in  his 
style,  wise  in  his  advice  to  his  readers,  and  a  great 
admirer  of  his  own  country. 

His  moral  propensities  do  not  lie  concealed  behind 
pretty  descriptions  or  adventures  ;  they  are  stamped  on 
the  very  first  page  of  each  of  his  books  and  are  expressly 
mentioned  in  their  titles.  In  this  too,  like  his  master 
Lyly,  he  may  be  considered  a  precursor  of  Richardson. 
He  writes  his  "  Mamillia  "  to  entreat  gentlemen  to 
beware  how,  '^  under  the  perfect  substaunce  of  pure 
love,  [they]  are  oft  inveigled  with  the  shadowe  of  lewde 
luste  ;  "  his  ''  Myrrour  of  Modestie  "  to  show  "  howe  the 
Lorde  delivereth  the  innocent  from  all  imminent  perils 
and  plagueth  the  bloudthirstie  hypocrites  with  deserved 
punishments."  "  Euphues  his  censure  to  Philautus " 
teaches  "  the  vertues  necessary  in  every  gentleman  ; " 
"  Pandosto  "  shows  that  "  although  by  the  meanes  of 


iij9I  ;  "Second  part  of  Conny-catching,"  1591;  "Third  and  last 
part,"  1592;  "Disputation  betweene  a  Hee  conny-catcher  and  a 
Shee  conny-catcher,"  1592  (attributed  to  Greene)  ;  "The  Blacke 
bookes  messenger"  (/>.,  "Life  of  Ned  Browne"),  1592. 

4.  Repentances :  "Greenes  mourning  garment,"  1590  (?) ; 
"Greenes  never  too  late  to  mend,"  1590;  "  Francescos  fortune  or 
the  second  part  of  Greenes  never  too  late,"  1590  (these  two  last 
belong  also  to  Group  i)  ;  "Farewell  to  follie,"  1591  (entered  1587)  ; 
"  Greenes  Groats-worth  of  wit,"  1592;  "The  Repentance  of  Robert 
Greene,"  1592. 


LYLY'S  LEG  A  TEES.  169 

sinister  fortune  truth  may  be  concealed,  yet  by  Time 
in  spight  of  fortune,  it  is  most  manifestly  revealed."  ^ 
Quiet,  wealthy,  comfortable  Richardson  had "  no  better 
aim,  and  had,  in  fact,  a  very  similar  one,  when  he  wrote 
his  "  Pamela,"  as  he  is  careful  to  state  on  the  title-page, 
"  in  order  to  cultivate  the  principles  of  virtue  and 
religion  in  the  minds  of  the  youth  of  both  sexes  ;"  and 
his  '*  Clarissa,"  to  show  "  the  distresses  that  may  attend 
the  misconduct  both  of  parents  and  children  in  relation 
to  marriage."  Be  it  said  to  the  praise  of  both  authors 
and  readers,  this  moral  purpose  so  prominently  stated 
did  not  in  the  least  frighten  the  public  of  ladies,  whose 
suffrage,  the  two  men,  different  as  they  were  in  most 
things,  were  especially  courting.  Richardson's  popu- 
larity among  them  needs  not  to  be  recalled,  and  as  for 
Greene,  he  was  stated  at  the  time  of  his  greater  vogue 
to  be  nothing  less  than  *'  the  Homer  of  women."  2 

Greene's  praise  of  England  is  as  constant  as  Lyly's  ; 
he  is  careful  to  show  that  whatever  appearances  may 
be,  he  is  proud  to  be  a  citizen  of  London,  not,  after 
all,  of  Bohemia  ;  if  he  represents  himself  shipwrecked 
near  the  coast  of  an  island  where,  like  Robinson  Crusoe, 
he  is  alone  able  to  swim,  finding  the  country  pleasant, 
he  describes  it  as  "  much  like  that  faire  England  the 

^  The  same  virtuous  tone  and  purpose  appear  invariably  in  the 
dedications  of  his  books  to  his  patrons  or  friends.  To  all  of  them 
he  wishes  "  increase  of  worship  and  vcrtue,"  and  he  commends 
them  all  "  to  the  tuition  of  the  Almightie." 

^  Thomas  Nash,  "The  Anatomic  of  Absurditie,"  London,  1590, 
4to,  written  in  1588.  There  seems  to  be  no  doubt  that  Nash 
refers  to  Greene  in  the  passage:  "I  but  here  the  Homer  of 
women  hath  forestalled  an  objection,"  &c.,  sig   A  ii. 

10 


1 70  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

flower  of  Europe."  i  Euphues*  praise  of  London  is 
matched  by  Greene's  description  of  its  naval  power  in 
his  "  Royal  Exchange  "  :  "  Our  citizens  of  London  (Her 
Majesties  royal  fleet  excepted)  have  so  many  shyppes 
harboured  v^^ithin  the  Thames  as  wyll  not  onelie  match 
with  all  the  argosies,  galleyes,  galeons  and  pataches  in 
Venice,  but  to  encounter  by  sea  with  the  strongest  cittie 
in  the  whole  world."  2  As  for  foreign  women,  Greene 
agrees  with  Lyly  that  they  all  paint  their  faces,  and 
cannot  live  without  a  lover.  French  women,  for 
example,  are  "  beautifull,"  it  is  true,  but  "  they  have 
drugges  of  Alexandria,  minerals  of  Egypt,  waters  from 
Tharsus,  paintings  from  Spaine,  and  what  to  doe  for- 
sooth }  To  make  them  more  beautifull  then  vertuous 
and  more  pleasing  in  the  eyes  of  men  then  delightful 
in  the  sight  of  God.  .  .  .  Some  take  no  pleasure  but  in 
amorous  passions,  no  delight  but  in  madrigals  of  love, 
wetting  Cupid's  wings  with  rose  water,  and  tricking  up 
his  quiver  with  sweete  perfumes."  3 

But  Greene's  style  marked  him  most  indelibly  as  a 
pupil  of  Lyly.  He  has  taken  Euphues'  ways  of  speech 
with  all  their  peculiarities,  and  has  sometimes  crowded 
his  tales  with  such  a  quantity  of  similes,  metaphors  and 
antitheses  as  to  beat  his  master  himself  on  his  own 
ground.4     Here,  again,  we  are  in  the  middle  of  scor- 

^  "Alcida,"  "Works,"  vol.  ix.  p.  17. 

2  "The  Royal  Exchange,  contayning  sundry  aphorismes  of 
phylosophie  .  .  .  fyrst  written  in  Italian,"  1590,  "Works,"  vol.  vii. 
p.  224, 

3  "Greenes    never    too   late,"    1590,    "Works,"    vol.     viii.     p. 

4  Greene  and  Lyly  are  placed  on  a  par  by  J.  Eliote,  a  friend  of 


LYLY'S  LEGATEES, 


171 


-pions,  crocodiles,  dipsas,  and  what  not.  Take,  for 
instance,  "  Philomela  the  lady  Fitzwaters  nightingale  ;  *'  ^ 
as  it  is  written  expressly  for  ladies,  and  dedicated  to  one 
of  them,  and  as,  in  addition,  the  characters  are  of 
high  rank,  the  novel  is  nearly  one  unbroken  series  of 
similes :  ^'  The  greener  the  alisander  leaves  be,  the 
more  bitter  is  the 
says     Philip, 


sappe 
the 


i    jealous    husband,      #^.^|^pil 
himself ;  ''  the  sala-       \<mMk'^^4^^9S^ 


to 

mander  is  most  warm 
when  it  lyeth  furthest 
■from  the  fire  ; "  thus 
his  wife  may  well  be 
as  heart-hollow  as  she 
seems  lip-holy.  He 
charges  his  friend 
Lutesio  to  tempt  her, 
by  way  of  trial. 
^"  Lutesio,"  the  lady 
replies  to  the  young 
man's  declaration, 
*'  now  I  see,  the 
•strongest  oake  hath 
his  sap  and  his  worms   [and]  that   ravens  will   breed 

the  former;   in  the  sonnet,  in  Stratford-at-Bow  French,  he  wrote  in 
commendation  of  Greene's  "  Perimedes  "  : 

"  Greene  et  Lylli  tous  deux  raffineurs  de  TAnglois.*' 

See   also   the   commendatory    verses   by    H.    Upchear,     prefacing 
***  Menaphon"  : 

"Of  all  the  flowers  a  Lil/ie  one  I  lov'd." 

^   1592,  "Works,"  vol.  xi. 


ANOTHER   DRAGON,    1608. 


172  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

in  the  fayrest  ash."  These  observations  appear  un- 
answerable to  Lutesio,  and  the  husband  would  share 
his  conviction  if  he  did  not  reflect  that  *^  the  onix  is 
inwardly  most  cold,  when  it  is  outwardly  most  hot/' 
The  experiment  must  be  tried  again,  and  the  friend 
returns  to  the  charge  :  "  Madam,  I  have  been  stung 
with  the  scorpion  and  cannot  be  helpt  or  healed  by 
none  but  by  the  scorpion." 

*'  I  see  now,"  replies  the  lady  to  this  compliment,, 
"that  hemlocke  wheresoever  it  bee  planted,  will  be 
pestilent  [and]  that  the  serpent  with  the  brightest  scales 
shroudeth  the  most  fatall  venome."  Is  there  anything 
more  certain.?  But  that  does  not  prevent  the  halcyon 
from  hatching  when  the  sea  is  calm,  and  the  phoenix 
from  spreading  her  wings  when  the  sunbeams  shine  on 
her  nest.  This  is  what  the  husband  remarks,  and,, 
guided  by  the  onyx,  the  alexander,  &c.,  after  a  mock 
trial,  he  divorces  his  wife. 

What  did  the  people  think  of  it }    They  thought  "  alf 
was  not  golde  that  glistered,  .  .  .  that  the  Agate,  bee 
it  never  so  white  without,  yet  it  is  full  of  black  strokes  . 
within.*' 

During  this  time,  Philomela,  the  wife  who  had  been 
driven  away,  retires  to  Palermo,  where  her  knowledge 
of  natural  history  allows  her  to  observe  that  the  more 
the  camomile  is  trodden  on,  the  faster  it  grows. 
Scarcely  separated  from  her,  the  husband  loses  his 
confidence  in  the  onyx  and  alexander,  and  sets  out  in 
search  of  her.  He  does  not  know  her  place  of  retreat, 
but,  happily,  among  all  possible  routes,  he  chooses 
precisely  that  leading  to  Palermo.  He  finds  his  wife 
again,  and  his  joy  is  so  great  that  he  is  choked  by  it,. 


LYLTS  LEGATEES.  173 

and  dies ;  a  just  punishment  for  his  confidence  in  Lyly's 
botany.  I 

In  the  same  way  as  patient  GriseH's  story  had  been 
in  the  same  period  transferred  to  the  stage,  this  new 
example  of  feminine  virtue,  from  the  pen  of  the 
"  Homer  of  women,"  was,  in  later  years,  worked  into 
a  drama.  At  that  time  Greene  had  long  been  dead 
and  could  not  complain  of  the  new  "  shake-scene  " 
tortures  inflicted  upon  him  by  Davenport.2 

This  story,  characteristic  as  it  is  of  Greene's  style 
when  he  means  to  be  euphuistic,  can  scarcely  be  taken 
as  a  fair  sample  of  the  improbability  he  is  able  to 
crowd  into  a  single  novel.  Most  of  his  tales  (and 
in  this  he  greatly  difl^ers  from  Lyly)  take  place 
we  do  not  know  when,  we  do  not  know  where, 
among  men  we  have  never  anywhere  come  across. 
Learned  as  he  was,  versed  in  the  Greek,  Latin, 
French  and  Italian  tongues,  able  to  translate  passages 
from  the  Italian  of  Ariosto,  to  dress  in  English  language 
the  charming  "  Debat  de  Folic  et  d'Amour "  3  of 
Louise  Labe,  to  imitate  (as  he  thought)  Cicero's  style, 
while  describing  (as  he  thought)  the  great  orator's 
loves,4-  his  turn  of  mind  was  as  little  critical  as  can  be 

^  Some  faint  resemblance  has  been  pointed  out  by  Dunlop 
between  this  story  and  the  tale  of  Tito  and  Gisippo  in  the 
"  Decameron,"  giornata  x.  novella  8. 

2  "  The  City  Nightcap,  or  crede  quod  habes  et  habes,  a  tragi- 
comedy," London,  1661,  4to,  licensed  1624,  reprinted  in  Dodsley's 
^'  Old  plays." 

3  *'  The  debate  betweene  Follie  and  Love,  translated  out  of 
French,"  1587,  "Works,"  vol.  iv. 

4  "  Ciceronis  amor  Tulies  love  ...  a  work  full  of  pleasure,  as 
following  Ciceroes  vaine,"  1589,  "Works,"  vol.  vii.       This  work 


;[  74  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

imagined,  and  his  wide  popularity  served  to  spread 
geographical  and  historical  absurdities,  some  of  which 
were  preserved  by  Shakespeare  himself,  for  the 
amusement  of  a  learned  posterity.  Greene's  picture  of 
Ulysses'  Penelope  is  not  more  Greek  than  the  exquisite 
painting  by  Pinturicchio  at  the  National  Gallery,  where 
the  wise  king  of  Ithaca  appears  under  the  guise  of  a 
red-hosed  Italian  youth  with  flowing  hair  ;  while  his  wife 
sits  at  her  **  web  "  in  a  Florentine  blue  dress.  In  Greene,. 
Penelope  is  represented  telling  stories  to  while  away  the 
time,  which,  unless  we  endow  her  with  a  prophetical 
gift,  are  impossibilities.  Her  first  story  begins  thus  : 
"  Saladyne  the  Souldan  of  i^gipt,  who  by  his  prowesse 
had  made  a  generall  conquest  of  the  south-east  part  of 
ye  world  tooke  to  wife  Barmenissa,  the  onely  daughter 
and  heire  of  the  great  chan."  No  wonder  that  such 
tales  could  chain  the  attention  and  awaken  the  curiosity 
of  her  maids,  and  keep  them  quiet  till  the  time  when 
*'  a  messenger  came  hastily  rushing  in,  who  tolde  Pene- 
lope that  Ulisses  was  arryved  that  night  within  the  port 
of  Ithaca.  .  .  .  Penelope  called  for  her  sonne  and  that 
night  sent  him  post  to  the  sea.*'  ^ 

is  noteworthy  as  being  an  almost  if  not  quite  unique  example  of  an 
attempt  in  Elizabethan  times  to  write  a  pseudo-historical  novel  in 
the  style  of  the  period  referred  to.  Greene  set  to  work  expressly 
with  such  a  purpose,  and  he  states  it  in  the  title  of  the  book  and 
in-  its  preface  :  "  Gentlemen,  I  have  written  of  Tullies  love,  a 
worke  attempted  to  win  your  favours,  but  to  discover  mine  owne 
ignorance  in  that  coveting  to  counterfeit  Tullies  phrase,  I  have  lost 
myself  in  unproper  words."  In  this  tale  Cicero  is  represented 
standing  at  the  tribune  and  haranguing  the  senate  :  "  Conscript 
fathers  and  grave  senators  of  Rome,"  &c. 

^  "Penelopes  web,"  1587,  "Works,"  vol.  iv.  p.  233. 


L  YLTS  LEGATEES.  175 

Not  less  wonderful  are  the  stories  of  "  Arbasto," 
King  of  Denmark,  or  of  "  Pandosto/'  King  of  Bohemia, 
They  may  be  taken  as  typical  specimens  of  the  sort  of 
romantic  novel  the  Elizabethan  public  enjoyed,  and 
which  was  sure  to  make  an  author  popular.  We  must 
remember  when  reading  these  tales  that  they  were  the 
fashion,  the  craze,  at  a  time  when  "  Midsummer  Night's 
Dream  "  and  ''  Romeo  and  Juliet "  were  being  played. 
Chaotic,  improbable,  and  in  some  parts  ridiculous  as 
they  appear  to  us,  they  would  have  made  their  author 
wealthy  if  anything  could,  so  much  so  that,  as  we  have 
seen,  the  publishers,  according  to  Nash,  considered 
themselves  "  blest  to  pay  Greene  deare  for  the  very 
dregs  of  his  wit."  He  was,  if  anything,  an  author  that 
sold.     What  were  his  wares } 

In  "  Arbasto  "  Greene  represents  himself  reaching  in 
his  travels  the  island  of  Candia.  He  meets  in  a  cell  a 
solitary  old  man,  and  without  any  ceremony  makes  bold 
to  ask  him  for  his  story.  The  old  man  is  at  first  some- 
what shocked  at  this  inquisitiveness,  and  gets  very 
angry  ;  but  he  grows  calmer  and  complies.  He  is 
Arbasto,  late  King  of  Denmark,  and  was  once  very 
happy  :  "I  feared  not  the  force  of  forraigne  foes,  for  I 
knewe  none  but  were  my  faithfuU  friends,"  says  he,  in 
a  style  that  reminds  one  of  the  King  Herod  of  miracle- 
plays.  Living  in  such  content,  he  thought  it  advisable 
to  invade  France,  where  at  that  time  a  king  was  reign- 
ing, named  Pelorus,  about  whom  chroniclers  are  silent. 
Arbasto  came  straight  to  Orleans,  and  after  some  siege 
operations,  "  had  so  shaken  the  walles  with  cannon  shot, 
that  they  were  forced  to  strengthen  them  with  counter 
mures. " 


1 76  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

A  three  months'  truce  is  agreed  to  on  both  sides, 
and  the  two  sovereigns  entertain  each  other.  At  the 
French  court,  Arbasto  meets  the  two  daughters  of  the 
king,  Myrania  and  Doralicia,  two  wonderful  creatures, 
especially  the  latter,  who  was  "  so  adorned  with  more 
then  earthlie  perfection  as  she  seemed  to  be  framed  by 
nature  to  blemishe  nature,  and  that  beautie  had  skipt 
beyond  her  skil  in  framing  a  peece  of  such  curious 
workemanship."  Arbasto  cannot  cease  gazing  at  her  ; 
he  addresses  to  himself  euphuistic  speeches  several  pages 
long,  but  they  do  him  no  good.  It  so  happens,  that 
while  his  love  is  set  on  Doralicia,  the  other  princess 
falls  in  love  with  him.  But  this  again  does  him  no 
good.  He  ceases  to  find  anything  worth  living  for  ; 
even  the  possible  destruction  of  France  seems  to  him 
tasteless.  His  nobles  observe  his  changed  mood,  and 
wonder,  and  his  confidant,  Duke  Egerio,  vainly  tries 
on  him  the  effect  of  a  new  series  of  euphuistic  examples 
and  similes.  Arbasto  continues  loving,  and  Doralicia 
perseveres  in  her  coldness  ;  they  meet  once,  and  argue 
one  against  the  other  with  the  help  of  salamanders  and 
scorpions,  and  empty  their  whole  herbaria  over  each 
other's  head ;  but  things  remain  in  statu. 

King  Pelorus,  who,  for  all  that,  does  not  lose  his 
head,  offers  Arbasto  an  interview  in  Orleans  to  sign 
the  peace.  Arbasto  comes,  the  gates  are  shut,  he  is 
thrown  into  prison  ;  his  army  is  cut  to  pieces,  and  a 
great  scaffold  is  erected  in  a  conspicuous  place,  on  which 
the  prisoner  is  to  be  publicly  executed  in  ten  days' 
time. 

The  royal  Dane  tries  to  console  himself  in  his  prison 
with  what  remains  of  his  herbarium  and  zoology.     But 


Z  YLY'S  LEG  A  TEES.  1 7  7 

better  help  comes  in  the  shape  of  the  loving  princess, 
Myrania,  who  is  resolved  to  save  him.  By  her  com- 
;mand  her  maid  entices  the  gaoler  to  her  room,  and 
causes  him  to  tread  "upon  a  false  bord"  that  had  appa 
rently  been  there  in  all  times,  ready  for  this  very 
emergency.  The  gaoler  falls  "  up  to  the  shoulders  ;  " 
then  he  disappears  into  a  hole,  where  he  dies,  and  his 
-keys  are  taken  from  him. 

Arbasto  is  very  happy,  and  promises  Myrania  to  love 
and  marry  her  ;  they  go  "  covertly  out  of  the  citie, 
passing  through  France  with  many  fearefull  perils" 
and  reach  Denmark.  Pelorus  and  Doralicia  are  ex- 
tremely angry  ;  she  even  takes  to  "  blaspheming  .  .  . 
but  as  words  breake  no  bones,  so  we  cared  the  lesse  for 
her  scolding." 

But  Arbasto  learns  to  his  cost  that  no  man  when 
truly  in  love  can  cease  to  love  as  he  pleases.  Before 
keeping  his  word  to  Myrania  he  wants  once  more  to 
appeal  to  her  fair  sister.  But  the  fair  sister  continues 
in  her  blaspheming  mood,  and  sends  a  very  sharp  and 
contemptuous  answer. 

Both  letters  fall  into  the  hands  of  Myrania,  who  is 
so  struck  by  this  piece  of  treachery  that  she  dies  of  her 
sorrow  ;  hearing  which  Pelorus  rather  unexpectedly 
dies  of  his  sorrow  for  her  death.  Doralicia  then  is 
queen,  and  at  last  discovers  that  in  the  innermost  part 
of  her  heart  there  is  love  for  Arbasto.  She  writes 
accordingly,  but  the  Dane  this  time  returns  a  con- 
temptuous answer.  Receiving  which,  the  poor  French 
queen  dies  of  her  sorrow.  And  thereupon,  for  no  appa- 
rent reason,  except  to  add  yet  more  sorrow  to  the 
conclusion  of  this  tragical   tale,    the   confidant  of  the 


178  THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL. 

Danish  king  turns  traitor,  usurps  his  crown,  and 
Arbasto  goes  to  Candia,  where  Greene  had  the  good 
fortune  to  hear  from  his  own  lips  this  wondrous  and 
authentic  tale.  "  Merry  and  tragical  !  tedious  and 
brief ! ''  as  Duke  Theseus  would  think. 

However  complete  the  success  awarded  to  Arbasto's 
adventures,  it  was  nothing  compared  with  the  popu- 
larity of  "  Pandosto."  If  this  was  not  the  best  it  was 
the  most  famous  of  Greene's  tales.  The  plot  is  well 
known,  for  Shakespeare,  unmoved  by  the  dying  male- 
dictions of  his  late  companion,  drew  from  it  the 
materials  of  his  *'  Winter's  Tale  "  (i6i  i  .^).  He  kept 
many  of  the  improbabilities  of  Greene,  rejected  a  few^ 
and  added  some  of  his  own.  But  the  great  change  he 
made  was  to  give  life  to  the  heroes,  and  as  they  had 
been  shaped  by  Greene  they  sorely  needed  it.  Rarely 
did  a  more  unlikely  and  a  cruder  tale  come  from  the 
pen  of  our  novelist. 

The  events  of  the  story  take  place  among  kings  and 
shepherds  :  *'  In  the  countrey  of  Bohemia  there  raygned 
a  king  called  Pandosto."  This  is  the  usual  beginning 
of  novels  of  the  time  ;  hundreds  of  them  commence  in 
this  manner  ;  ^  the  very  first  lines  transport  the  reader 
to  an  unknown  country,  and  place  him  before  am 
unknown  king,  and  if,  after  reading  only  those  few 
words,  he  is  surprised  to  find  himself  entangled  in 
extraordinary,  inexplicable  adventures,  he    must   be  of 

^  "There  dwelled  in  Bononia  a  certaine  Knight  called  Signior 
Bonfadio"  ("  Morando  ").  "  There  dwelled  in  the  citie  of  Mete- 
lyne  a  certain  Duke  called  Clerophantes  "("Greenes  carde  of" 
fancie  ").  "  There  dwelled  ...  in  the  citie  of  Memphis  a  poore 
man  called  Perymedes  "  ("  Perimedes "),  &:c. 


LYLTS  LEGATEES.  179^ 

a  very  na'ive  disposition.  But  in  Elizabethan  times, 
adventures  were  liked  for  their  own  sake ;  probability 
was  only  a  very  secondary  motive  of  enjoyment. 
"  Pandosto/'  in  any  case,  deserves  our  attention,  for, 
if  it  commenced  like  many  other  novels  of  the  time,  it 
led,  as  we  have  said,  to  "  Winter's  Tale,"  to  which  it  is 
worth  while  to  go.  When  the  two  are  read  together 
and  compared,  it  seems  as  if  Sliakespeare  had  chosen 
on  purpose  one  of  the  worst  of  Greene's  tales,  to  show 
by  way  of  an  answer  to  the  accusations  of  the  dead 
writer,  that  he  was  able  to  form  something  out  of 
nothing.  Greene  had,  in  truth,  only  modelled  the 
clay  ;  Shakespeare  used  it,  adding  the  soul. 

Greene  simply  states  his  facts  and  takes  little  trouble 
about  explaining  them  ;  the  reader  must  rest  satisfied 
with  the  author's  bare  word.  There  is  no  attempt  at 
the  study  of  passions  ;  his  heroes  change  their  minds, 
all  of  a  sudden,  with  the  stiff,  sharp,  improbable  action 
of  puppets  in  a  show.  Pandosto  (Leontes)  loves  and' 
hates,  and  becomes  jealous,  and  repents  always  in  the 
same  brusque  wire-and-wood  manner  ;  the  warmth  of  his 
passions,  so  great  and  terrible  in  Shakespeare,  is  here, 
simply  absent  ;  when  he  begins  to  suspect  his  friend 
Egistus  (Polixenes)  of  feeling  an  unlawful  love  for 
Bellaria  (Hermione),  we  are  barely  informed  that  the 
Bohemian  king  *'  concluded  at  last  to  poyson  him." 
When  Dorastus  and  Fawnia  (Florizel  and  Perdita) 
seek  refuge  in  Pandosto's  kingdom,  Pandosto  at  once 
falls  in  love  with  his  own  daughter,  Fawnia,  whom 
he  does  not  know  ;  then  on  the  receipt  of  a  letter 
from  Egistus,  *'  having  his  former  love  turned  to  a 
disdainful  hate,"  he  wishes  to  have  her  killed.     Very 


i8o  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

differently   is    the    couple   received    by   Shakespeare's 
Leontes  : 

"  Were  I  but  twenty-one, 
Your  father's  image  is  so  hit  in  you, 
His  very  air,  that  I  should  call  you  brother, 
As  I  did  him;  and  speak  of  something  wildly 
By  us  performed  before.     Most  dearly  welcome  ! 
And  you,  fair  princess,  goddess  ! — O,  alas, 
I  lost  a  couple,  that  'twixt  heaven  and  earth 
Might  thus  have  stood,  begetting  wonder  as 
You  gracious  couple  do." 

In  Greene  the  exquisite  figure  of  Perdita  appears  as 
a  very  rough  sketch  under  the  name  of  Fawnia.  She 
loves  her  Dorastus  not  merely  because  he  is  lovable, 
but  because  "  hoping  in  time  to  be  advaunced  from 
the  daughter  of  a  poore  farmer  to  be  the  wife  of  a 
riche  king."  Dorastus  comes  to  her .  disguised  as  a 
shepherd,  and  as  she  does  not  recognize  him  "  she 
began  halfe  to  forget  Dorastus  and  to  favor  this 
prety  shepheard  whom  she  thought  shee  might  both 
love  and  obtaine."  It  would  be  cruel  to  make  further 
comparisons,  but  it  is  necessary  to  say  thus  much 
in  order  to  show  what  a  hold  adventures,  however 
crude,  surprises,  unexpected  meetings  and  recognitions, 
had  upon  Elizabethan  minds.  They  were  quite  suffi- 
cient to  insure  success  ;  to  add  life  and  poetry  was  very 
well,  but  by  no  means  necessary.  Shakespeare  did  so 
because  he  could  not  do  otherwise  ;  and  he  did  it 
thoroughly,  as  was  his  wont,  endowing  with  his  life- 
giving  faculty  the  most  insignificant  personage  he  found 
embryo-like  in  Greene.  The  least  of  them  has,  in 
Shakespeare,  his  own  moods,  his  sensitiveness,  a  mind 


LYL  TS  LEG  A  TEES.  1 8 1 

and  a  heart    that    is    his  and   his  alone  ;  even  young 
Mamillius,  the  child  who  lives  only  the  length  of  one 
scene,  is  not  any  child,  but  tells  his  tale,  his  sad  tale 
with  a  grace  that  is  all  his  own, 

"  A  sad  tale's  best  for  winter. 
.      .     .     I  will  tell  it  softly  ; 
Yond  crickets  shall  not  hear  it." 

Living  people,  too,  are  his  Paulina,  his  Antigonus, 
his  CamillOj  his  Autolycus,  all  of  them  additions  of  his 
own  creation.  Living  also,  his  shepherds,  for  whom  he 
received  only  insignificant  hints  from  Greene.  In 
*'  Pandosto  "  we  hear  of  "  a  meeting  of  all  the  farmers 
daughters  in  Sycilia,"  without  anything  more,  and  from 
this  Shakespeare  drew  the  idea  of  his  sheep-shearing 
feast,  where  he  delights  in  contrasting  with  the  rough 
ways  of  his  peasants^  the  inborn  elegance  of  Perdita : 
*'  O  Proserpina,"  says  she,  in  her  delicious  mythological 
prattle  : 

"  For  the  flowers  now,  that,  frighted,  thou  lett'st  fall 
From  Dis's  wagon  !   daffodils, 
That  come  before  the  swallow  dares  ..." 

And  Florizel,  wondering  at  her  with  his  young 
admiring  eyes,  answers  in  the  same  strain  : 

"  When  you  speak,  sweet, 
I'd  have  you  do  it  ever  ;  when  you  sing, 
I'd  have  you  buy  and  sell  so  ;  so  give  alms  ; 
Pray  so ;  and,  for  the  ordering  your  affairs, 
To  sing  them  too  :  when  you  do  dance,  I  wish  you 
A  wave  o'  the  sea,  that  you  might  ever  do 
Nothing  but  that." 


1 8  2  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL, 

Very  different  is  the  old  shepherd's  tone  ;  though 
kindly,  it  is  quite  conformable  to  his  estate  and 
situation  : 


"  Fie,  daughter  !  when  my  old  wife  lived,  upon 
This  day  she  was  both  pantler,  butler,  cook, 
Both  dame  and  servant ;  welcomed  all,  served  all, 
Would  sing  her  song,  and  dance  her  turn  ;  now  here, 
At  upper  end  o'  the  table,  now  i'  the  middle ; 
On  his  shoulder  and  his  ;  her  face  o'  fire 
With  labour,  and  the  thing  she  took  to  quench  it. 
She  would  to  each  one  sip.     You  are  retired. 
As  if  you  were  a  feasted  one,  and  not 
The  hostess  of  the  meeting." 


Never  has  the  language  of  country  people  been 
"better  transferred  to  literature  ;  their  manners,  tone,  and 
language  in  Shakespeare  have  remained  true  to  nature 
even  to  the  present  day,  so  much  so  that  it  is  difficult, 
while  writing,  not  to  think  of  harvest  and  vintage 
scenes,  which  every  year  brings  round  again  in 
our  French  valleys,  and  the  sort  of  kindly  talk  very 
similar  to  the  old  shepherd's  that  many  of  us  remember, 
as  well  as  I  do,  to  have  heard  in  the  country,  from 
peasant  associates  in  early  days.  This  unsurpassed 
fidelity  to  nature  is  the  more  remarkable  as  it  dates 
from  the  Arcadian  times  of  English  literature,  days 
that  were  to  last  long,  even  down  to  the  time  of 
Pope  and  of  Thomson  himself,  to  stop  at  Burns, 
when  at  last  a  deeper,  if  not  truer,  note  was  to  be 
struck. 

But  with  regard  to  mere  facts,  Shakespeare  was  in  no 
way  more  careful  than  Greene,  and  he  seems  to  have 


LYLTS  LEGATEES.  183 

known,  and  it  was  in  fact  visible  enough,  the  greedi- 
ness of  his  pubHc  to  be  such  that,  ostrich  like,  they 
would  swallow  anything.  He,  therefore,  changed  very 
little.  In  Greene,  ships  ''  sail  into  Bohemia,"  a  feat  that 
cannot  be  repeated  to-day  ;  the  Queen  is  tried  by  a  jury 
**  panelled  "  for  that  purpose  ;  the  nobles  go  '^  to  the 
isle  of  Delphos,  there  to  enquire  of  the  oracle  of 
Apollo  whether  she  had  committed  adultery."  Very 
much  the  same  things  happen  in  Shakespeare.  The 
survival  of  Hermione  is  his  own  invention  ;  in  Greene 
she  dies  for  good  at  the  beginning  of  the  novel,  when 
she  hears  of  the  death  of  her  son.  With  the  same 
aptitude  to  die  for  no  other  cause  than  to  improve  a 
story,  Pandosto  dies  also  in  Greene's  tale  :  he  remem- 
bered his  faults  and  "  fell  in  a  melancholie  fit,  and  to 
close  up  the  comedie  with  a  tragicall  stratageme  he 
slewe  hiniselfe."  Merry  and  tragical  !  But  otherwise 
Dorastus  and  Fawnia  would  have  had  to  wait  before 
becoming  king  and  queen,  and  such  a  waiting  was 
against  the  taste  of  the  time  and  the  rules  of  novel 
writing. 

Such  as  it  is,  Greene's  tale  had  an  extraordinary 
success.  While  Shakespeare's  drama  was  not  printed, 
either  in  authentic  or  pirated  shape,  before  the 
appearance  of  the  1623  folio,  the  prose  story  had  a 
number  of  editions  throughout  the  seventeenth  century 
and  even,  under  one  shape  or  another,  throughout  the 
eighteenth.  It  was  printed  as  a  chap-book  during  this 
last  period,  and  in  this  costume  began  a  new  life.  It 
^as  turned  into  verse  in  1672,  under  the  title,  "For- 
tune's tennis  ball  :  or  the  most  excellent  history  of 
Dorastus  and  Fawnia,  rendred  into  delightful  english 


i84  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

verse";  I    it    begins    with    this    "delightful"    invoca- 
tion : 

"Inspire  me  gentle  love  and  jealousie, 
Give  me  thy  passion  and  thy  extasie, 
While  to  a  pleasant  ayr  I  strik  the  strings 
Singing  the  fates  of  lovers  and  of  kings." 

But  the  highest  and  most  extraordinary  compliment 
to  Greene's  performance  was  its  translation  into  French, 
not  only  once,  as  has  been  said,  but  twice.  The  first 
time  was  at  a  moment  when  the  English  language  and 
literature  were  practically  unknown  and  as  good  as  non- 
extant  to  French  readers.  It  appeared  in  1615,  and 
was  dedicated  to  "  tres  haute  and  tres  illustre  princesse, 
Madame  Christine  Soeur  du  Roy."  2  The  second  trans- 
lation, that  has  never  yet  been  noticed,  was  made  at 
a  time  when  France  had  a  novel  literature  of  its  own 
well  worth  reading,  and  when  Boileau  had  utterly  routed 
and  discomfited  the  writers  of  romantic  and  improbable 
tales.  Nevertheless,  it  was  thought  that  a  public  would 
be  found  in  Paris  for  Greene's  novel,  and  it  was  printed 
accordingly  in  French  in  1722,  this  time  adorned  with 
engravings.  3     They  show  ''Doraste"  dressed  as  a  mar- 

^  London,  1672. 

2  "  Histoire  tragique  dc  Pandosto  roy  de  Boheme  et  de  Bcllaria 
sa  femme.  Ensemble  les  amours  de  Dorastus  et  de  Faunia  ;  ou  sont 
comprises  les  adventures  de  Pandosto  roy  de  Boheme,  enrichies  de 
feintes  moralites,  allegories,  et  telles  autres  diversites  convenables 
au  sujet.  Le  tout  traduit  premierement  en  Anglois  de  la  langue 
Boheme  et  de  nouveau  mis  en  fran^ois  par  L.  Regnault,"  Paris, 
161 5,  i2mo.     A  copy  in  the  Bodleian  Library. 

3  "  Histoire  tragique  de  Pandolphe  roy  de  Boheme  et  de  Cel- 
laria  sa  femme,  ensemble  les  amours  dc  Doraste  et  de  Faunia ;, 
enrichie  de  figures  en  taille  douce,"  Paris,  1722,  i2mo. 


I 


LYLY'S  LEGATEES.  185 


quis  of  Louis  XV. 's  time  ;  while  "  Pandolphe  "  wears 
a  flowing  wig  under  his  cocked  hat,  and  sits  on  a  throne 
in  rococo  style.  A  copy  of  the  book  was  purchased 
for  the  royal  library,  and  is  still  to  be  seen  at  the 
Bibliotheque  Nationale  in  Paris,  with  the  crown  and 
cipher  of  his  Most  Christian  Majesty  on  the  cover. 

Greene's    story    of    "  Menaphon  '*  ^    is    hardly  more 
probable,  but  it  takes  place  in  the  country  of  Arcadia, 
a  fact  that  predisposes  us  to  treat  with  indulgence  any 
lack  of  reality  ;  moreover,  it  contains  touches   of  true 
poetry,  and  is  perhaps,  all  considered,  the  best  of  Greene's 
romantic  novels.     In  common  with  most  of  this  author's 
tales  it  abounds  in  monologues  and  dialogues  ;  heroes 
think   aloud  and   let  us  into    their  secret   thoughts,  a 
device  adapted  from  the  classic  drama  and  very  common 
in  all  the  English  novels  of  the  period.     There  is  also, 
according  to  Greene's  custom,  a  great  abundance  of  songs 
and  verses,  the  best  piece  being  the  lullaby  quoted  above. 
Propriety   and  the  truth   of  characters   are  not   much 
better    observed   here    than  in  Greene's  other    stories. 
Everybody  in  this  romance  speaks  with  infinite  grace  and 
politeness.  The  shepherd  Menaphon,  introducing  himself 
to  the  Princess  Sephestia  and  her  child,  who  have  been 
cast    ashore    through    a    shipwreck,    says    to    therii  : 
"  Strangers,  your  degree  I  know  not,  therefore  pardon 
if  I  give  lesse    title  than  your  estates  merit."'     And, 
falling  desperately  in   love  with    the    beautiful  young 
woman,  who  gives  as  her  name  Samela  of  the  island  of 
Cyprus,  he  describes  to  her  with  ardour  and  not  with- 
out grace  the  pastoral  life  that  he  would  like  to  lead 

^  "  Menaphon.     Camillas  alarum  to  slumbering  Euphues,  in  his 
melancholic  cell  at  Silexedra,"  1589.     "  Works,"  vol.  vi. 

II 


1 86  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

with  her  :  ''I  tell  thee,  faire  nymph,  these  planies  that 
thou  seest  stretching  southward,  are  pastures  belonging 
to  Menaphon  :  ther  growes  the  cintfoyle,  and  the 
hyacinth,  the  cowsloppe,  the  primrose  and  the  violet, 
which  my  flockes  shall  spare  for  flowers  to  make  thee 
garlands,  the  milke  of  my  ewes  shall  be  meate  for  thy 
pretie  wanton,  the  wool  of  the  fat  weathers  that  seemes 
as  fine  as  the  fleece  that  Jason  fet  from  Colchos,  shall 
serve  to  make  Samela  webbes  withall  ;  the  mountaine 
tops  shall  be  thy  mornings  walke,  and  the  shadie  valleies 
thy  evenings  arbour  :  as  much  as  Menaphon  owes 
shall  be  at  Samelas  command  if  she  like  to  live  with 
Menaphon." 

The  romance  goes  on  its  way,  strewn  with  songs 
whose  refrains  of  varied  and  tuneful  metres  afford 
charming  melody.  In  the  end  two  knights,  Melicertus 
and  Pleusidippus,  both  enamoured  of  Sephestia,  fight  a 
duel  ;  they  are  separated.  The  king  of  the  country 
interferes,  and  comprehending  nothing  of  these  intricate 
love  affairs,  he  is  on  the  point  of  cutting  off^  all  their 
heads,  when  it  is  discovered  that  Melicertus  is  the  long 
lost  husband  of  Sephestia  ;  the  other  duellist  is  the  child 
of  the  shipwrecked  woman,  who,  in  the  course  of  the 
tale,  has  been  stolen  from  her  on  the  shore  and  has 
grown  up  in  hiding.  They  embrace  one  another  ;  and, 
as  for  Menaphon,  whose  sweetheart  finds  herself  thus 
provided  with  a  sufficiently  fond  husband  and  son,  he 
returns  to  his  old  love,  Pesana,  who  had  had  patience  to 
wait  for  him,  doubtless  without  growing  old  :  for,  in 
these  romances,  people  do  not  grow  old.  Pleusidippus 
has  become  a  man,  without  the  least  change  in  his 
mother's  face  ;  she  has  remained  as  beautiful  as  in  the 


Z  YL  yS  LEGATEES.  187 

first  page  of  the  book,  and  is,  according  to  appearances, 
still  "  sweet-and-twenty." 

In  his  tales  of  this  sort  Greene  was  mostly 
describing  delights  with  which  he  was  not  personally 
acquainted,  lands  of  which  he  had  no  practical  know- 
ledge, princely  adventures  for  which  no  historian  could 
vouch.  He  was  perfectly  free  and  unimpeded.  The 
taste  of  the  public  was  similar  to  his  ;  no  Boileau  was 
there  to  stop  him,  and  he  wrote  accordingly,  following 
his  fancy,  not  caring  in  the  least  for  nature  and  possi- 
bility, letting  his  pen  go  as  fast  as  it  would,  and  turning 
out  "  in  a  night  and  a  day  "  a  tale  like  his  "  Menaphon." 
But  if  he  did  not  choose  to  paint  from  life  and  to 
describe  realities  in  his  "  love  pamphlets,"  he  did  so  on 
purpose,  not  because  he  was  unable  to  do  it.  In  several 
of  his  other  writings  his  subject  was  such  that  the  work 
would  have  been  nothing  if  not  true  ;  and  there  we 
find  a  clear  view  of  human  passions,  foibles  and 
peculiarities,  which  show  that  if  the  taste  of  the 
romance  readers  of  the  time  had  been  such  as  to 
encourage  him  in  this  line,  he  would  have  proved  no 
mean  realistic  novelist.  His  Repentances  abound  in 
portraits  and  scenes,  showing  the  keen  eye  he  had  for 
realities.  His  conny-catching  literature  is  full  of  exact 
descriptions  of  the  sordid  life  of  the  sharpers  and 
low  courtesans  of  Elizabethan  London.  In  more 
than  one  of  these  pamphlets  he  foreshadows,  though 
I  need  not  say  with  a  much  lesser  genius,  the  '^  Moll 
Flanders  "  and  the  "  Colonel  Jack  "  of  a  later  period. 
The  resemblance  is  especially  great  in  the  *'  Life  and 
death  of  Ned  Browne,"  ^  in  which  the  hero,  according  to 

^  "The  blacke  bookes  messenger,  laying  open  the  life  and  death 


1 88  THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL. 

the  custom  in  picaresque  novels,  of  which  more  here- 
after, himself  tells  his  own  story  in  the  first  person. 
Greene  is  particularly  bitter  in  his  denunciations  of  the 
professional  courtesans  of  London,  about  whom  he  knew 
probably  more  than  any  of  his  contemporaries.  But 
with  all  the  hatred  he  felt  towards  them  so  long  as  he 
had  pen  in  hand,  he  cannot  help  repeating  that,  however 
objectionable  they  are  in  many  ways,  they  have  for 
themselves  this  advantage,  that  they  are  extremely 
beautiful,  so  that  if  their  morals  are  exactly  the  same  as 
in  other  countries  they  excel  at  least  in  something  which 
in  itself  is  not  contemptible.  They  are  "  a  kinde  of 
women  bearing  the  faces  of  Angels,  but  the  hearts  of 
devils,  able  to  intrap  the  elect  if  it  were  possible."  ^ 
Greene  had  no  pretension  to  be  one  of  the  elect,  and 
was  only  too  often  "intraped''  ;  but  for  all  his  miseries 
his  words  show  a  scarcely  less  intense  admiration  for  his 
diabolical  angels  than  Des  Grieux's  famous  rapturous 
phrase  when  he  meets  Manon  on  her  way  to  the  ship 
that  is  to  convey  her  to  America  :  "  Son  linge  etait  sale 
et  derange  ;  ses  mains  delicates  exposees  a  I'injure  de 
Tair  ;  enfin  tout  ce  compose  charmant,  cette  figure 
capable  de  ramener  Vunivers  a  Vidolatrie^  paraissait 
dans  un  desordre  et  un  abattement  inexprimables." 
**Again,"  writes  Greene  :  "  let  me  say  this  much,  that 
our  curtizans  ...  are  far  superiour  in  artificiall  allure- 
ment to  them  of  all  the  world,  for,  although  they  have 

of  Ned  Browne  one  of  the  most  notable  of  cutpurses  ...  in 
England.  Heerein  hee  telleth  verie  pleasantly  in  his  owne  person 
such  strange  prancks  ...  as  the  like  was  yet  never  heard  of," 
1592,  "Works,"  vol.  xi. 

^  "  Groats-worth  of  wit,"  "Works,"  vol.  xii.  p.  140. 


L  YL  Y'S  LEG  A  TEES.  189 

not  the  painting  of  Italic,  nor  the  charms  of  France, 
nor  the  jewelles  of  Spaine,  yet  they  have  in  their  eyes 
adamants  that  wil  drawe  youth  as  the  jet  the  strawe. 
.  .  .  Their  lookes  .  .  .  containe  modesty,  mirth,  chas- 
tity, wantonness  and  what  not/'  ^ 

Besides  the  personal  reminiscences  with  which  he 
made  up  his  repentance  tales  and  stories,  Greene  as  an 
observer  of  human  nature  is  seen  at  his  best  in  his 
curious,  and  at  the  time  famous,  dialogue  *'  between 
velvet  breeches  and  cloth  breeches."  2  Jt  is  in  fact 
a  disputation  between  old  England  and  new  England  ; 
the  England  that  built  the  strong  houses  praised  by 
Harrison,  and  the  England  that  adorned  itself  with  the 
Burghley  House  paper  work  ;  traditional  England  and 
italianate  England.  Velvet  breeches  is  "  richly  daubde 
with  gold,  and  poudred  with  pearle,"  and  is  ''  sprung 
from  the  auncient  Romans,  borne  in  Italy,  the  mistresse 
of  the  worlde  for  chivalry."  Cloth  breeches  is  of 
English  manufacture  and  descent,  and  deplores  the 
vices  that  have  crept  into  "  this  glorious  Hand "  in 
the  wake  of  Italian  fashions.  Both  plead  before 
Greene,    each    giving  very    graphic    accounts     of    the 

^  "Greenes  never  too  late,''  "Works,"  vol.  viii.  p.  6"]. 

2  "A  quip  for  an  upstart  courtier,  or  a  quaint  dispute  between 
velvet  breeches  and  cloth  breeches,"  London,  1592  ;  "Works," 
vol.  xi.  In  the  year  of  its  publication  it  went  through  three  editions 
and  had  several  afterwards.  It  was  translated  into  Dutch  :  "  Een 
seer  vermakelick  Proces  tusschen  Fluweele-Broeck  ende  liaken- 
Broek,"  Leyden,  1601,  4.to.  Greene  had  as  his  model  in  writing 
this  book  F.  T.'s  "Debate  between  pride  and  lowliness,"  and 
he  drew  much  from  it,  though  not  so  much  by  far  as  he  has 
been  accused  of  by  Mr.  Collier.  "  The  Debate,"  &c.,  Shakespeare 
Society,  184.1,  preface.      (F.  T.  is  not  Francis  Thynne.) 


190 


THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL, 


behaviour  of  the  other.  Here,  for  example,  is  a 
scene,  assuredly    from    the    life,    at    a    barber's  shop  : 

"  Velvet  breeches  he  sittes  downe  in  the  chaire 
wrapt  in  fine  cloathes  .  .  .  then  comes  [the  barber] 
out  with  his  fustian  eloquence,  and  making  a  low 
conge,  saith  : 

"  Sir,    will    you    have    your    wor[ship's]     haire    cut 


VELVET  BREECHES  AND  CLOTH  BREECHES,  1 592. 


after  the  Italian  maner,  shorte  and  round,  and  then 
frounst  with  the  curling  yrons,  to  make  it  looke  like 
a  halfe  moone  in  a  miste?  or  like  a  Spanyard,  long  at 
the  eares  and  curled  like  the  two  endes  of  an  old  cast 
periwig  ?  or  will  you  be  Frenchified,  with  a  love  locke 
downe  to  your  shoulders,  wherein  you  may  weare 
your  mistresse  favour?  The  English  cut  is  base  and 
gentlemen  scorne  it,  novelty  is  daintye;  speake  the  woord 


LYLY'S  LEGATEES.  191 

sir,  and  my  sissars  are  ready  to  execute  your  worships 
wil. 

"  His  head  being  once  drest,  which  requires  in 
combing  and  rubbing  some  two  howers,  hee  comes  to 
the  bason  :  then  being  curiously  washt  with  no  woorse 
then  a  camphire  bal,  he  descends  as  low  as  his  berd, 
and  asketh  whether  he  please  to  be  shaven  or  no, 
whether  he  will  have  his  peak  cut  short  and  sharpe, 
amiable  like  an  inamorato.,  or  broad  pendant  like  a 
spade,  to  be  terrible  like  a  warrior  and  a  Soldado  .  .  . 
if  it  be  his  pleasure  to  have  his  appendices  primed  or  his 
mustachios  fostered  to  turn  about  his  eares  like  ye 
branches  of  a  vine.  .  .  ." 

The  question  pending  between  cloth  and  velvet  is 
submitted  to  a  jury  ;  men  of  the  various  professions  are 
called  and  accepted,  or  rejected,  according  to  their 
merit  ;  each  is  described,  often  in  a  very  lively  manner. 
Here  is,  for  example,  the  portrait  of  a  poet  or  rather  of 
the  poet  of  the  Elizabethan  period  ;  for  the  specimen 
here  represented  stands  as  a  type  for  all  his  class  ;  and 
it  is  worth  notice,  for  if  Shakespeare  himself  was 
different,  many  of  his  associates  at  the  "  Mermaid," 
we  may  be  sure,  well  answered  the  description.  "  I 
espied  far  off^  a  certain  kind  of  an  overworne  gentle- 
man, attired  in  velvet  and  satin  ;  but  it  was  somewhat 
dropped  and  greasie,  and  bootes  on  his  legges,  whose 
soles  wexed  thin  and  seemed  to  complaine  of  their 
maister,  which  treading  thrift  under  his  feet,  had 
brought  them  unto  that  consumption.  He  walked 
not  as  other  men  in  the  common  beaten  way,  but  came 
compassing  circumcirca,  as  if  we  had  beene  divells  and 
he  would  draw  a  circle  about   us,  and  at  every  third 


192  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

step  he  looked  back  as  if  he  were  afraid  of  a  baily  or 
a  sarjant."  Cloth  Breeches,  who  seems  to  be  describing 
here  Greene  himself,  is  not  too  severe  in  his  appre- 
ciation of  the  character  of  the  poor  troubled  fellow  ; 
"  If  he  have  forty  pound  in  his  purse  together,  he 
puts  it  not  to  usury,  neither  buies  land  nor  merchan- 
dise with  it,  but  a  moneths  commodity  of  wenches  and 
capons.  Ten  pound  a  supper,  why  tis  nothing  if  his 
plough  goes  and  his  ink  home  be  cleere  .  .  .  But  to 
speak  plainely  I  think  him  an  honest  man  if  he  would 
but  live  within  his  compasse,  and  generally  no  mans 
foe  but  his  ow^n.  Therefore  I  hold  him  a  man  fit  to  be 
of  my  jury." 

Judgment    is    passed    in  favour   of  cloth    England 
against  velvet  England  ;   and  in  this  ultra-conservative 
sentence  the  views  of  the  Bohemian  novelist  are  summed 
up    in   this   premature    essay    on    the    "  philosophy   of 
clothes." 


IV. 


The  fame  and  success  of  Greene  encouraged  writers 
to  follow  his  example.  He  had  shown  that  there  was 
a  public  for  novels,  and  that  it  was  a  sort  of  literature 
that  would  pay,  both  in  reputation  and  money.  He 
had,  therefore,  many  rivals  and  imitators  who  were 
thus  only  second-hand  disciples  of  Lyly.  Among  these 
Nicholas  Breton  and  Emmanuel  Ford  may  be  taken  as 
examples.  Both  were  his  contemporaries,  but  survived 
him  many  years.  In  both  traces  of  euphuism  survive, 
but  they  are  faint ;  at  the  time  they  wrote  euphuism 
was  on  the  wane,  and  it  is  only  on  rare  occasions  that 


ZVZV'S  LEGATEES.  193 

Ford  reminds  us  that  "the  most  mightie  monarch 
Alexander,  aswel  beheld  the  crooked  counterfeit  of 
Vulcan  as  the  sweet  picture  of  Venus.  Philip  of 
Macedon  accepted.  .  .  ."  ^ 

What  Ford  especially  imitated  from  Greene  was  the 
art  of  writing  romantic  tales  with  plenty  of  adventures, 
unexpected  meetings  and  discoveries,  much  love,  and 
improbabilities  enough  to  enchant  Elizabethan  readers 
and  sell  the  book  up  to  any  number  of  editions.  In 
this  he  rivalled  his  model  very  successfully,  and  his 
romances  were  among  the  most  popular  of  the  time  of 
Shakespeare.  The  number  of  their  editions  was  extra- 
ordinary, and  they  were  renewed  at  almost  regular 
intervals  up  to  the  eighteenth  century  ;  there  was 
a  far  greater  demand  for  them  than  for  any  play  of 
Shakespeare. 2  Besides  imitating  Greene,  who  obviously 
revealed  to  him  the  success  to  be  won  by  writing 
romantic  tales,  he  imitated  at  the  same  time  the 
Italians  and  the  Spaniards,  introducing  into  his 
romances  a  licentiousness  quite  unknown  to  Greene, 
but  well  known  to  Boccaccio,  and  heroic  adventures 
similar  to  those  his  friend  Anthony  Munday  was 
just  then  putting  into  English.  These  last  were 
to  be  the  chief  delight  of  novel-readers  in  the  seven- 
teenth century,  and  did  more  than  anything  for  the 
great  popularity  of  Ford's  novels  during  that  period. 

Ford's  earliest  and  most  characteristic  work  was 
called    "  Parismus,  the    renowned    prince  of  Bohemia 

^  Dedication  of  "  Parismus,"  1598. 

2  The  thirteenth  edition  of  "Parismus"  appeared  in  1649; 
there  were  others  in  1657,  1663,  1664,  1665,  1668,  1671,  1677, 
1684,  1690,  1696,  1704,  &:c.     (Sidney  L.  Lee.) 


194  THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL. 

.  .  .  conteining  his  noble  battailes  fought  against 
the  Persians  ...  his  love  to  Laurana  .  .  .  and  his 
straunge  adventures  in  the  desolate  Hand/*  &c.,  &c.  ^ 
As  the  title  informs  us  there  are  loves  and  wars  in  this 
romance,  deeds  of  valour  and  of  sorcery,  there  are 
pageants  and  enchanters.  The  adventures  take  place 
in  purely  imaginary  lands,  which  the  author  is  pleased 
to  call  Bohemia,  Persia,  &c.,  but  which  might  have 
been  as  well  baptized  Tartary  or  Mongolia.  The 
manners  and  costumes,  however,  when  there  is  an 
attempt  at  describing  them,  are  purely  Elizabethan. 
There  are  masques  such  as  were  shown  at  court  in 
Shakespeare's  time,  and  during  one  such  fete,  as  in 
"  Romeo  and  Juliet,"  Parismus  for  the  first  time 
declares  his  love  to  Laurana  :  ''  The  maskers  entred 
in  this  sort  :  first  entred  two  torch  bearers,  apparelled 
in  white  satten,  beset  with  spangles  of  gold,  after 
whom  followed  two  Eunuches,  apparelled  all  in  greene, 
playing  on  two  instruments,  then  came  Parismus  attired 
all  in  carnation  satten  .  .  .  next  followed  .  .  .  when  came 
two  knights  .  .  .  next  followed  ..."  -  and  so  on  ;  in 
the  same  style  as  in  Shakespeare's  play,  "  enter  Romeo, 
Mercutio,  Benvolio,  with  ^y^  or  six  maskers,  torch- 
bearers  and  others.*'  3  But,  alas,  this  is  the  only 
place  where  there  is  any  resemblance  between  the  two 
styles  ;  though   the  situation   developes    under   Ford's 

^  London,  1598,  4to.  ^  Sig.  C  iii.  et  seq. 

3  Act  i.  sc.  4.  "Romeo"  was  first  printed  in  1597.  A  con- 
temporary representation  of  such  an  entree  of  maskers  is  to  be 
seen  in  the  curious  painting  representing  Sir  H,  Unton  and  the 
principal  events  in  his  life  ;  now  kept  in  the  National  Portrait 
Gallery  (painted  about  1596). 


LYLY'S  LEG  A  TEES.  1 95 

pen  in  a  manner  to  suggest  that  he  must  have  read 
"  Romeo  "  not  without  a  purpose.  Had  his  purpose 
been  to  show  his  contemporaries  the  height  of 
Shakespeare's  genius  by  giving,  side  by  side  with 
it,  the  measure  of  an  ordinary  mind,  he  could  not 
have  tried  better  nor  succeeded  less.  For  con- 
temporaries and  successors  consumed  innumerable 
editions  of  ''  Parismus,"  and  only  too  easily  numbered 
editions  of  "  Romeo." 

Parismus  and  Laurana  talk,  in  the  midst  of  the  ball, 
of  their  new-born  love,  and  after  an  exchange  of  highly 
polite  phrases  she  thus  confesses  her  feelings  :  "  My 
noble  lord  ...  I  heartily  thanke  you  for  taking  so 
much  paines  for  my  sake,  being  unwoorthie  thereof, 
and  also  unable  to  bee  sufficiently  thankfull  unto  you 
for  the  same,  and  for  that  you  say  your  happinesse 
resteth  in  my  power,  if  1  can  any  way  work  your 
content  to  the  uttermost  of  my  endeavour  I  will  do 
it."  Parismus,  of  course,  has  nothing  to  answer  except 
that  no  one  could  require  more. 

It  had  been,  however,  with  her  also,  love  at  first 
sight  ;  but  Laurana  does  not  say  : 

"  Go,  ask  his  name  :  if  he  be  married, 
My  grave  is  like  to  be  my  wedding  bed." 

She  is  far  too  well  bred  and  courtly,  and  she  explains 
as  follows  what  she  has  felt  :  "  My  Lord,  I  assure  you, 
that  at  such  time  as  I  sawe  you  comming  first  into 
this  court,  my  heart  was  then  surprised,  procured,  as 
I  think  by  the  destinies,  that  ever  since  I  have  vowed 
to    rest    yours."     This    speech    is    made    at  a  nightly 


1 96  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

garden  meeting,  similar  to  the  one  where  Romeo 
went  "  with  love's  light  wings,"  and  where  was  heard 
the  sweetest  and  gravest  lovers'  music  that  ever 
enchanted  human  ears  : 

"  At  lovers'  perjuries, 
They  say  Jove  laughs.     O  gentle  Romeo, 
If  thou  dost  love,  pronounce  it  faithfully  : 
Or  if  thou  think'st  I  am  too  quickly  won, 
I  will  frown  and  be  perverse.    .    .    . 
Well,  do  not  swear  :  although  I  joy  in  thee, 
I  have  no  joy  of  this  contract  to-night. 
It  is  too  rash,  too  unadvised,  too  sudden  ; 
Too  like  the  lightning,  which  doth  cease  to  be 
Ere  one  can  say,  It  lightens."  ... 

He  of  Bohemia  had  not  come  with  "  love's  light 
wings,"  but  ''  somewhat  before  the  hour,  was  gone  forth 
in  his  night  gowne,  with  his  sworde  under  his  arme, 
and  comming  to  the  gate  he  was  wont  to  goe  in  at  into 
the  gardeine,  found  it  shut,  and  having  no  other  meanes, 
he  gott  over  the  wall."  We  picture  him  clambering 
over  the  wall,  his  night-gown  flowing  about  him  to  do 
duty  for  love's  wings.  The  lovers  meet,  and  "  thus  they 
spent  the  night  in  kinde  salutations  and  curteous  im- 
bracings  to  the  unspeakable  joy  and  comfort  of  them 
both." 

To  complete  the  external  resemblance  of  the  two 
situations,  there  is  in  Ford's  novel  a  young  lord  to  play 
the  part  of  ''  County  Paris."  He  is  called  Sicanus,  and 
Laurana's  family  greatly  favours  his  suit  :  "  Laurana, 
my  cheefest  care  is  to  see  thee  married,  according  to 
thy  state,  which  hath  made  me  send  for  thee,  to  know 
whether  thou  hast  alreadie  placed  thy  affection  or  no  : 


LYL  Y'S  LEG  A  TEES.  197 

otherwise  there  is  come  into  this  country,  a  knight  of 
great  estate/'  &c.,  &c.  "  Laurana  departed  with  a  heavie 
heart." 

Then  again,  as  in  "  Romeo,"  there  is  another  meeting 
of  the  lovers,  this  time  in  Laurana's  chamber  ;  and  they 
spend  the  hours  "  in  sweete  greetings,  but  farre  from 
anie  thought  of  unchastnesse,  their  imbracings  being 
grounded  upon  the  most  vertuous  conditions  that  might 
bee  :  and  sitting  together  upon  the  beds  side,  Laurana 
told  him.  ..."  As  in  Romeo,  they  are  parted  by 
morn  : 

"Wilt  thou  be  gone  ?  it  is  not  yet  near  day  : 
It  was  the  nightingale,  and  not  the  lark.   .   .   . 
— It  was  the  lark,  the  herald  of  the  morn, 
No  nightingale  :  look,  love,  what  envious  streaks 
Do  lace  the  severing  clouds  in  yonder  east.  .  .  . 
— Yond  light  is  not  daylight.  .  .  ." 

A  very  different  morn  shines  in  at  Laurana's  win- 
dows :  ^'  Nowe  the  dismall  houre  of  their  parting  being 
approached,  by  reason  of  the  light  that  the  sunne  began 
to  give  into  the  chamber,  Parismus  taking  Laurana  in 
his  arnies,  drawing  sweete  breath  from  her  lippes,  told 
her  that  now,  to  his  greefe,  he  must  leave  her  to  be 
courted  by  his  enemie." 

Without  any  very  great  grief  on  our  side  we  shall 
leave  them  to  follow  from  this  point  a  series  of  adven- 
tures very  different  from  Romeo's.  Parismus  becomes 
a  chief  of  outlaws,  and  acquires  great  fame  under  the 
name  of  the  Black  Knight ;  he  wages  war  against 
Sicanus,  he  encounters  young  Violetta,  and  their  meet- 
ings read  like  a  tale  from  Boccaccio  rather  than  like  a 


198  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

play  of  Shakespeare  ;  at  last  he  marries  Laurana  "  with 
admirable  pompe "  in  the  ''  temple  of  Diana."  We 
shall  leave  them  in  this  holy  place,  though  many  more 
adventures  are  in  store  for  them.  We  shall  only  state 
that  Ford,  encouraged  by  the  great  success  of  this  first 
attempt,  wrote  several  other  novels  exactly  in  the  same 
style,  containing  the  same  improbable  monsters  and 
wonders,  and  the  same  licentious  adventures.  In  spite, 
however,  of  the  condemnation  he  suffered  at  the  hands 
of  wise  people  on  account  of  the  undeniable  immorality 
of  several  of  his  episodes,  his  reputation  went  on  in- 
creasing for  years  and  long  survived  him.  ^ 

Another  follower  of  Greene  was  Nicholas  Breton,^ 
eighteen  years  his  senior  ;  but  he  did  not  begin  novel- 
writing  until  after  the  death  of  his  model,  when  this 
kind  of  literature  had  taken  a  firm  hold  of  the  public. 
Very  little  euphuism  remains  in  Breton  ;  we  do  not 
find  in  him  those  clusters  of  similes  with  which  Lyly 
and  Greene  were  fond  of  adorning  their  novels,  and 
alliteration  is  there  only  to  remind  us  that  through 
Greene,  Breton  may  be  considered  a  secondary  legatee 

^  "  Parismenos,  the  second  part  of  .  .  .  Parismus,"  1599; 
"Ornatus  and  Artesia,"  of  uncertain  date,  but  surely  anterior  to 
1598  ;  "  Montelion,  Knight  of  the  Oracle,"  of  uncertain  date; 
the  earliest  known  copy  bears  date,  1633.  Francis  Meres,  in  his 
celebrated  "  Palladis  Tamia,"  gives  a  list  of  books  "  hurtful  to 
youth,"  and  which  are  to  be  "censured";  among  them,  besides 
^'Gargantua,"  "Owlglass,"  &c.,  he  names  "  Ornatus  and  Artesia" 
and  the  "  Black  Knight,"  which  might  perhaps  be  "Parismus,"  for 
such  was  our  hero's  nickname. 

2  "Works  in  verse  and  prose,"  ed.  Grosart,  London,  1879,  2 
vols.,  4to.  Breton  was  born  in  1542-3  ;  he  studied  at  Oxford, 
and  travelled  on  the  continent ;  he  died  in  1626. 


L  YL  Y'S  LEG  A  TEES.  1 99 

of  Lyly.  The  subjects  and  the  form  of  his  writings, 
much  better  than  his  style,  prove  him  a  pupil  of 
Greene.  He  imitated  his  dialogues,  publishing  in  suc- 
cession his  conference  '^  betwixt  a  scholler  and  an  angler," 
his  discussion  between  "  wit  and  will "  ;  his  disputation 
of  a  scholar  and  a  soldier,  *'  the  one  defending  learning, 
the  other  martiall  discipline,"  and  several  others  on 
travels,  on  court  and  country,  &c.  He  imitated 
Greene's  tales  of  low  life,  anticipating  in  his  turn 
Defoe's  novels,  with  his  "  Miseries  of  Mavilha  ;  "  he  re- 
mained, however,  far  below  the  level  not  only  of  Defoe, 
but  of  Greene,  whose  personal  knowledge  of  the  mis- 
fortunes he  was  describing  enabled  him  to  give  in  his 
writings  of  this  kind  pictures  of  reality  that  contrasted 
strangely  with  the  fanciful  incidents  of  his  romantic 
novels.  The  only  things  worth  remembering  in  these 
''  miseries,"  besides  their  subject,  are  a  few  thoughtful 
observations  such  as  the  one  (in  alliterative  style)  which 
opens  the  story  :  '^  Sorrow  sokes  long  ere  it  slayes  ; 
care  consumes  before  it  killes  ;  and  destinie  drives  the 
body  into  much  miserie,  before  the  heart  be  strooken 
dead  ;  "  a  far  juster  observation  than  Greene's  fancies, 
according  to  which  heroes  of  novels  may  be  got  rid  of 
as  quickly  by  sorrow  as  by  poison  or  apoplexy. 

There  are  also  in  Breton  imitations  of  the  romantic 
novel  of  Italian  origin  such  as  Greene  understood  it 
and  such  as  the  Elizabethan  public  loved  it.  Breton 
published  in  1600  his  ''Strange  fortunes  of  two  excel- 
lent princes,"  which  his  modern  editor  does  not  hesi- 
tate to  declare  "  a  bright  and  characteristic  little  book." 
This  little  masterpiece  begins  thus,  in  very  characteristic 
fashion  indeed  :  '*  In  the  Ilandes  of  Balino,  neere  unto  the 


2CO  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

city  of  Dulno,  there  lived  a  great  duke  named  Firente. 
.  .  .  This  lord  had  to  wife  a  sweete  ladie  called  Merilla, 
a  creature  of  much  worth.  .  .  .  This  blessed  lord  and 
ladie  had  issue  male,  onlie  one  sonne  named  Penillo 
and  female  one  onlie  daughter  named  Merilla."  These 
two  children  were  famous  for  their  wit  and  beauty. 
*'  But  I  will  .  .  .  entreat  of  another  Duke,  who  dwelt 
in  the  Hands  of  Cotasie.  .  .  .  This  duke  had  to  name 
Ordillo,  a  man  famous  for  much  worth  as  well  in  wit 
as  valour.  .  .  .  This  duke  had  to  wife  a  gratious  ladie. 
.  .  .  She  had  by  her  lord  the  duke  two  blessed  children, 
a  Sonne  and  a  daughter  ;  her  sonne  named  Fantiro  and 
her  daughter  Sinilla.'*  These  two  children  begat  wonder 
for  their  wit  and  their  beauty. 

Such  is  the  introduction.  What  do  you  think  will 
follow.^  That  the  two  perfect  young  men  will  marry 
the  two  unique  young  women }  This  is  exactly  what 
happens  ;  and  the  only  perceptible  interest  in  the  tale 
is  to  see  from  what  improbable  incidents  such  likely 
consequences  are  derived.  We  can  safely,  it  seems, 
class  this]  novel  in  the  same  category  as  "  Arbasto," 
*'  Mamillia,"  and  other  products  of  Greene's  pen  ;  not, 
however,  without  remarking  that  Breton's  stories,  as  well 
as  those  of  his  model,  were  not  meant  to  delight  nurseries, 
but  were  destined  to  give  pleasure  to  grown-up  people, 
to  people  in  society ;  they  were  offered  them  as 
jucunda  oblivia  vit^y  exactly  in  the  same  fashion  as 
the  three-volume  novels  of  to-day.  Breton  himself  is 
positive  on  this  point,  and  he  has  been  careful  to  inform 
us  that  his  intention  was  to  write  things  *'  which  being 
read  or  heard  in  a  winters  evening  by  a  good  fire,  or  a 
summers  morning  in  the  greene  fields  may  serve  both 


LYLTS  LEGATEES.  201 

to  purge  melancholy  from  the  minde  and  grosse  humours 
from  the  body."  ^ 

Again,  he  was  connected  with  the  Greene  and  Lyly 
group  by  the  pleasure  he  felt  in  composing  imagmary 
letters.  A  number  of  such  letters  had  been  inserted  by 
Lyly  in  his  "  Euphues,"  and  had  proved  one  of  the  at- 
tractions of  the  book ;  Greene  and  the  other  novelists  of 
the  period  never  missed  an  opportunity  of  making  their 
heroes  write  to  each  other,  and  they  always  transcribed 
their  letters  in  full,  a  process  inherited  from  the  romance 
writers  of  the  Middle  Ages.  Breton,  following  the 
example  already  given  by  some  of  his  contemporaries, 
went  beyond  that,  and  published  a  volume  of  imaginary 
letters  from  everybody  to  anybody  on  any  subject,  many 
of  them  rather  coarse,  some  good,  some  rather  slow 
in  their  gait  and  heavy  in  their  wit.-     The  public  taste 

^  This  forms  part  of  the  title  of  his  "  Wonders  worth  the 
hearing,"  1602  (a  dialogue  with  anecdotes). 

2  "A  poste  with  a  packet  of  mad  Letters."  The  earliest  dated 
edition  is  of  the  year  1603.  Breton  published,  besides  the  writings 
above  mentioned,  some  religious,  pastoral,  and  other  poetry.  Part 
of  it  is  dedicated  to  Mary  Sidney,  Countess  of  Pembroke,  the 
famous  sister  of  Sir  Philip  :  "  The  Countesse  of  Pembrookes  love," 
1592;  "The  Countesse  of  Pembroke's  passion"  (no  date).  His 
pastoral  poetry  is  among  the  best  of  his  time.  He  left  also 
moral  essays  and  characters  or  typical  portraits :  "  Characters  upon 
essaies  morall  and  divine,  161 5,"  dedicated  to  Bacon,  and  concern- 
ing wisdom,  learning,  knowledge,  patience,  love,  peace,  war  and 
other,  even  then,  rather  trite  subjects.  "The  good  and'badde," 
1 616,  contains  characters  of  a  knave,  an  usurer,  a  virgin,  a  para- 
site, a  goodman,  an  "  atheist  or  most  badde  man  :  hee  makes  robberie 
his  purchase,  lecherie  his  solace,  mirth  his  exercise,  and  drunken- 
nesse  his  glory,"  &c.  These  books  of  "  Characters"  were  extremely 
popular.  Cf.  "Characters  of  virtues  and  vices,"  by  Hall,  1608; 
Sir     Thomas     Overbury's     "Characters,"     1614  ;     John-    Earle's 

12 


202  THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL. 

was  so  decidedly  in  favour  of  these  compositions  that 
this  was  the  most  successful  of  Breton's  enterprises.  I 
was  often  reprinted  ;  a  number  of  similar  collections 
were  circulated  in  the  seventeenth  century,  and  their 
popularity  had  not  abated  when  Richardson  was  asked, 
by  the  publishers  Osborne  and  Rivington,  to  compose 
one  for  country  people.  He  did  so,  and  the  only 
difference,  and  a  sufficiently  important  one,  was  that  in 
his  series  the  letters  were  connected  by  the  thread  of 
a  story. 

Greene  had  a  rival  of  much  higher  stature  in  his 
friend  Thomas  Lodge.  Lodge  was  a  little  older  than 
Greene,  and  survived  him  long,  so  that  he  happened  to 
be  a  contemporary  both  of  Greene  and  of  his  imitators. 
He  rivalled  Greene,  but  did  not  imitate  him,  being 
himself  a  direct  legatee  of  Lyly.  The  sort  of  life  he 
led  differed  greatly  from  that  of  his  friend,  but  it  was 
scarcely  less  characteristic  of  the  period.  Lodge  was 
the  son  of  a  rich  London  grocer  who  had  been  Lord 
Mayor.  Born  in  1557,  he  had  known  Lyly  at  Oxford  ; 
had  studied  law  ;  then,  yielding  to  those  desires  of 
seeing  the  dangers  and  beauties  of  the  world  which 
drove  the  English  youths  of  the  period  to  seek  prefer- 
ment abroad,  he  closed  his  books  for  a  while,  and  became 
a  corsair,  visiting  the  Canary  Isles,  Brazil,  and  Patagonia. 
He  brought  back,  as  booty  from  his  expeditions, 
romances  written  at  sea  to  beguile  the  tedium  of  the 
passage  and  the  anxieties  of  the  tempest.  One  was 
called  "The  Margarite  of  America'' ;  another  ''  Rosa- 

"  Microcosmographie,"  1628,  and  a  great  many  others.  The  last- 
named  was  translated  into  French  by  J.  Dymocke,  *'  Le  vice 
ridicule,"  Louvain,  1671,  izmo.  One  of  his  most  curious  works 
is  his  "  Fantasticks,"  1626. 


LYLYS  LEGATEES.  203 

•■       

lynde.       The  latter  fell  into  Shakespeare's  hands  and 

pleased  him  ;  he  drew  from  it  the  plot  of  "  As  you 
like  it."  I  Coming  before  the  literary  public,  Lodge 
does  not  altogether  forget  his  profession  of  corsair, 
and  in  order  to  deprive  the  critics  of  the  temptation  to 
sneer,  he  is  careful  to  brandish  his  rapier  from  time  to 
time,  and  to  write  prefaces  that  make  one's  hair  stand 
on  end.  *'  Roome  for  a  souldier  and  a  sailer,  that  gives 
you  the  fruits  of  his  labors  that  he  wrote  in  the  Ocean  !  " 
he  cries  to  the  reader  at  the  beginning  of  his  "  Rosa- 
lynde,"  and  let  fault-finders  keep  silence  ;  otherwise  he 
will  throw  them  overboard  '^  to  feed  cods." 

After  such  a  warning  there  would  be  nothing  it 
seems  but  to  hold  our  tongue  ;  but  perhaps,  taking  the 
practical  side  of  the  question,  we  may  consider  that  by 
this  time  Lodge's  rapier  must  have  grown  very  rusty, 
and  would   not  offer  more   danger  than  any   critic  is 

^  The  principal  novels  or  short  stories  of  Lodge  are  :  "  For- 
bonius  and  Prisceria,"  1584,  reprinted  by  the  Shakespeare 
Society,  1853;  "  Rosalynde,  Euphues  golden  legacie  found  after 
his  death  in  his  cell  at  Silexcdra  .  .  .  fetcht  from  the  Canaries," 
1590,  reprinted  by  Hazlitt,  1875,  and  again  in  a  popular  form  by 
Prof.  H.  Morley,  1887;  "The  famous,  true,  and  historicall  life 
of  .  .  .  Robin  the  divell,"  1591  ;  "Euphues  shadow  the  battaile 
of  the  sences  wherein  youthful  folly  is  set  downe,"  1592  ; 
it  was  edited  by  Greene  in  the  absence  of  his  friend,  who  was  at 
sea  "upon  a  long  voyage."  The  story  takes  place  in  Italy  at  the 
time  when  "  Octavius  possessed  the  monarchy  of  the  whole  world." 
"The  Margarite  of  America,"  i  596,  reprinted  by  Halliwell,  1859. 
In  this  romance  (p.  116),  Lodge  incidentally  eulogizes  his  con- 
temporary the  French  poet  Philippe  Desportes,  and  he  mentions 
the  popularity  of  his  works  in  England.  The  "  Complete  Works  "  of 
Lodge  have  been  published  by  the  Hunterian  Club,  ed.  Gosse, 
Glasgow,  1875,  ^t  ^^1- 


204  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

bound  to  incur  in  the  performance  of  his  duty.  Besides 
that  admiration  may  in  all  sincerity  be  blended  with 
criticism  when  it  is  a  question  of  Lodge's  masterpiece, 
"  Rosalynde." 

The  tale  itself  bears  a  somewhat  curious  history. 
Twice  at  two  hundred  years'  distance  it  took  the  fancy 
of  the  greatest  genius  of  the  period.  In  the  Middle 
Ages  it  was  called  the  "  Tale  of  Gamely n,"  i  and  Chaucer 
apparently  intended  to  work  it  into  his  "  Canterbury 
Tales,"  but  he  died  before  he  had  completed  his  wish, 
and  some  copy  of  the  rough  old  poem  having,  as  it 
seems,  been  found  among  his  papers,  it  was  in  after 
time  inserted  in  the  manuscripts  of  his  works  as  the 
*'  Cooke's  Tale."  As  it  stood  in  the  fourteenth  century 
this  story  recited  mere  deeds  of  valour,  of  strong, 
sinewy  fighters  ;  love  and  women  played  no  part  in  it  ; 
and  it  is  a  great  loss  for  us  not  to  know  whether  old 
Chaucer  would  have  made  this  very  necessary  addition, 
and  what  sort  of  mediaeval  Rosalind  he  would  have 
depicted. 

As  things  went,  we  are  indebted  to  our  gentleman 
adventurer  for  the  invention  of  Rosalind.  Lodge  took 
up  the  tale  and  remodelled  it  entirely  ;  he  gave  place 
in  it  to  the  fair  she-page  and  to  her  friend  Alinda  and 
to  Phoebe,  the  hard-hearted  shepherdess,  in  such  a  way 
that  when  Shakespeare  in  his  turn  bethought  himself  of 
-  ^1  ^  this  story,  he  had  nothing  to  add  to  fit  it  for  his  own 

stage,  nothing  except  genius. 

But  if  Lodge  cannot  be  considered  a  man  of  genius, 
he  is  certainly  a  writer  of  very  remarkable  gifts.  ||  His 

I  "The  tale  of  Gamelyn,  from  Harleian  MS.,  7334,"  ed.  Skeat, 
Oxford,  1884,  i6mo. 


LYLTS  LEGATEES. 


.  ^y^'^ 


>^ 


^   V 


novel   is  a    pastoral    tale    that    takes  place  somewhere 

in  France,  near  Bordeaux,  and  reads  as  pleasantly  as  any 

story  in  *'  Astree/'  no  mean  compliment.     Probability, 

geography    and    chronology,   are    not    Lodge's    strong 

points;  we  are  in  fact  again  in  the  country  of  nowhere,  , 

in  an  imaginary   kingdom  of  France   over  which  the  AM^^^-^ 

usurper  Torismond    reigns.     The  true  king  has  been 

deposed  and  leads  a  forester's  life,  untroubled,  unknown, 

in  the  thick  woods  of  Arden,     Rosalind,  a  daughter  of 

the  deposed  king,  has  been  kept  as  a  sort  of  hostage  at 

the  court  of  the  tyrant  in 


Bordeaux,  presumably  his 
capital.  All  of  a  sudden 
she  is  exiled  in  her  turn, 
without  more  explana- 
tion than  "  I  have  heard 
of  thy  aspiring  speaches 
and  intended  treasons."  ^ 
Alinda,  her  friend,  the 
daughter  of  the  tyrant, 
refuses  to  leave  her,  and 

both  fly  the  court,  Rosalind  being  dressed  as  a  page, 
a  rapier   at   her  side,   her   wit    full    of  repartees,  her    / 
mind  full  of  shifts,  and  equal,  in  fact,  as  in  Shakespeare,        IMi^  A 
to  any  emergency.      "  Tush,  quoth  Rosalynd,  art  thou    j     U^^*— n  ^ 
a  woman   and  hast  not  a  sodaine  shift   to   prevent   a         ^   "^ 
misfortune.^     I,  thou   seest,  am  of  a  tall   stature,  and 
would  very  well  become  the   person  and  apparell  of  a 
page  ;  thou  shalt  bee  my  mistris,  and  I  will   play  the 
man  so  properly,  that,  trust  me,  in   what  company   so 
ever  I  come,  I  will  not  bee  discovered.     I  will  buy  mee 
^  "  Works,"  vol.  ii.  p,  12  (each  work  has  a  separate  pagination). 


PREPARING    FOR   THE    HUNT 


^575- 


2o6  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

a  suite,  and  have  my  rapier  very  handsomely  at  my 
side,  and  if  any  knave  offer  wrong,  your  page  will 
shew  him  the  point  of  his  weapon.  At  this  Alinda 
smiled,  and  upon  this  they  agreed,  and  presentlie 
gathered  up  all  their  jewels  which  they  trussed  up  in  a 
casket.  .  .  .  They  travailed  along  the  vineyards,  and 
by  many  by-waies,  at  last  got  to  the  forrest  side,"  the 
forest  of  Arden,  which  at  that  time  happened  to  be  near 
the  vineyards  of  Gascony. 

But  this  geographical  situation  is  the  least  of  the 
wonders  offered  by  the  forest.  In  it  live  not  only  Geris- 
mond,  the  lawful  king,  very  happy  and  contented,  free 
.  and  without  care,  wanting  nothing ;  but,  in  the  valleys, 
the  most  lovable  shepherdesses  and  the  most  loving 
shepherds  ;  they  feed  their  flocks  while  piping  their 
ditties  ;  they  inscribe  their  sonnets  on  the  bark  of  trees  ; 
they  are  very  learned,  though  mere  shepherds  ;  they 
quote  Latin  and  write  French^;  they4cnow-hew-H:-e  ask 
the  god  of  love  that  the  heart  of  their  mistress  may 
not  be-''de  glace." 

"  Bien  qu'elle  ait  de  neige  le  sein." 

They  live  in  the  shade  of  the  most  unaccountable 
woods,  woods  composed  of  pine-trees,  fig-trees,  and 
lemon-trees.  "  Then,  comming  into  a  faire  valley,  com- 
passed with  mountaines  whereon  grewe  many  pleasant 
shrubbs,  they  might  descrie  where  two  flocks  of  sheepe 
did  feede.  Then  looking  about  they  might  perceive 
where  an  old  shepheard  sat,  and  with  him  a  yong  swaine, 
under  a  covert  most  pleasantlie  scituated.  The  ground 
where  they  sat  was  Smpre  J  with  Floras  riches,  as  if  she 
ment  to  wrap  Tellus  in  the  glorie  of  her  vestments  : 


L  YL TS  LEGATEES.  207 

round  about,  in  the  forme  of  an  amphitheater  were 
most  curiouslie  planted  pine-trees,  interseamed  with 
limons  and  citrons,  which  with  the  thicknesse  of  their 
boughes  so  shadowed  the  place,  that  Phoebus  could  not 
prie  into  the  secret  of  that  arbour.  .  .  .  Fast  by  .  .  . 
was  there  a  fount  so  christalline  and  cleere  that  it  seemed 
Diana  and  her  Driades  and  Hemadriades  had  that 
spring  as  the  secret  of  all  their  bathings.  In  this 
glorious  arbour  sat  these  two  shepheards  seeing  their 
sheepe  feede,  playing  on  their  pipes.  .  .  ."  It  is  like 
a  landscape  by  Poussin.  Alinda  and  her  page  find 
the  place  very  pleasant,  and  decide  to  settle  there, 
especially  when  they  have  heard  what  a  shepherd's 
life  is  like.  "  For  a  shepheards  life,  oh  !  mistresse, 
did  you  but  live  a  while  in  their  content,  you 
would  saye  the  court  were  rather  a  place  of  sorrowe 
than  of  solace  .  .  .  Envie  stirres  not  us,  wee  covet  notl 
to  climbe,  our  desires  mount  not  above  our  degrees, 
nor  our  thoughts  above  our  fortunes.  Care  cannot 
harbour  in  our  cottages,  nor  doo  our  homely  couches 
know  broken  slumbers^  Fine  assertions,  to  which  some 
hundred  and  fifty  years  later  Prince  Rasselas  was  most 
solemnly  to  give  the  lie.  But  his  time  had  not  yet  come, 
and  both  princesses  resolve  to  settle  there,  to  purchase 
flocks,  and  "  live  quiet,  unknowen,  and  contented."  ^ 

1  Many  other  pleasant  things  are  to  be  found  in  the 
forest  ^  in  fact,  the  two  ladies  meet  their  lovers  there ; 
brave  Rosader,  the  Gamelyn  of  Chaucerian  times,  the 
Orlando  of  Shakespeare,  and  wicked  but  repentant  and 
reformed  Saladin,  who  loves  Alinda  as  Rosader  loves 
Rosalind.    They  meet,,  too,  the  shepherdess  Phoebe,  *'  as 

I   "Works,"  vol.  ii.  pp.  14,  16,  19,  20. 


2o8  THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL, 

faire  as  the  wanton  that  brought  Troy  to  ruine,"  but 
in  a  different  dress  ;  "  she  in  a  peticoate  of  scarlet, 
covered  with  a  greene  mantle,  and  to  shrowde  her  from 
the  sunne,  a  chaplet  of  roses  ;  "  in  a  different  mood,  too, 
towards  shepherds,  thinking  nothing  of  her  Paris,  poor 
Montanus  whom  she  disdains  while  he  is  dying  for 
her. 

Yet  there  were  even  more  wonders  in  this  forest  of 
Arcadian  shepherds,  exiled  princesses,  and  lemon-trees. 
There  were  '*  certaine  rascalls  that  lived  by  prowling  in 
the  forrest,  who  for  feare  of  the  provost  marshall  had 
caves  in  the  groves  and  thickets  "  ;  ^  there  were  lions, 
too,  very  dangerous,  hungry,  man-eating  lions.  Such 
animals  appear  in  Shakespeare  also,  as  well  as  "  palm 
trees,"  and  Shakespeare  moreover  takes  the  liberty  of 
doubling  his  lion  with  a  serpeiij 


A  wretched  ragged  mail  o'ergrown  with  hair 
Lay  sleeping  on[^hi^ack  :  about  his  neck 
A  green  and  gilded  snake  had  wreath'd  itself 
Who  with  her  head,  nimble  in  threats,  approach'd 
The  opemif'g  of  his  mouth  ;  but  suddenly, 
Seeing  Orlando,  it  unlink'd  itself, 
And  with  indented  glides  did  slip  away 
Into  a  bush  :  under  which  bush's  shade 
'A  lioness,  with  udders  all  drawn  dry. 
Lay  couching."  ^ 

Let  US  not  be  too  much  troubled  ;  here  will  be  good 
opportunities  for  lovers  to  show  the  sort  of  men  they 
are,  to  be  wounded,  but  not  disfigured,  and  finally  to 
be  loved. 

'  "  Works,'*  vol.  ii.  pp.  63,  46,  42, 
^  "As  you  like  it,"  act  iv.  sc.  3. 


y 


rv- 


LYLTS  LEGATEES.  209 

So  many  rare  encounters  of  men  and  animals,  and 
shepherds  and  lovers^  give  excellent  occasions  for 
Rosalind  to  display  the  special  turn  of  her  mind,  and 
if,  in  Lodge,  she  has  not  all  ihe  ready  wit  that 
Shakespeare  has  given  her,  she  is  by  no  means  slow  of 
speech  ;  she  possesses  besides  much  more  of  that  human 
kindness  in  which  we  sometimes  find  the  brilliant  page 
of  the  play  a  little  deficient.  The  conversations  between 
her  and  Alinda  are  very  pleasant  to  read,  and  show  how 
at  last,  not  only  on  the  stage,  but  even  in  novels,  the 
tongues  of  the  speakers  had  been  loosened. 

'^  No    doubt,    quoth    Aliena,i    this    poesie     is    the        \^ 
passion    of     some     perplexed    shepheard,     that    being  "^ 
enamoured  of  some  fair  and    beautifull  shepheardesse 
suffered  some  sharpe  repulse,  and  therefore  complained 
of  the  cruelty  of  his  mistris. 

"  You  may  see,  quoth  Ganimede  [Rosalind's  page- 
name],  what  mad  cattell  you  women  be,  whose  hearts 
sometimes  are  made  of  adamant  that  will  touch  with 
no  impression,  and  sometimes  of  waxe  that  is  fit  for 
everie  forme ;  they  delight  to  be  courted  and  then  they 
glorie  to  seeme  coy,  and  when  they  are  most  desired, 
then  they  freeze  with  disdaine.   .   .   . 

"  And  I  pray  you,  quoth  Aliena,  if  your  roabes 
were  off,  what  mettall  are  you  made  of  that  you  are 
so  satyricall  against  women  ?  .  .  .  Beware,  Ganimede, 
that  Rosader  heare  you  not.  .  .  . 

"  Thus,    quoth     Ganimede,    I     keepe     decorum,    I 

speake    now    as    I    am    Alienas    page,    not    as    I    am 

Gerismonds  daughter  ;  for  put  me  but  into  a  peticoate, 

and   I   will  stand  in   defiance    to    the    uttermost,   that 

^   Mcr  forest  name  for  Alinda. 


^ 


2 lo  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

women    are    courteous,   constant,   virtuous,    and    what 
not/: 

Thus  there  is  much  merry  prattle  between  these  two, 
especially  when  the  presence  of  the  lover  of  the  one 
sharpens  the  teasing  disposition  of  the  other ;  when, 
for  example,  Rosader  finding,  not  without  good  cause, 
some  resemblance  between  the  page  and  his  Rosalind, 
pities  the  former,  for  not  equalling  the  perfection  of 
his  mistress. 

"  He  hathanswered  you,  Ganimede,  quoth  Aliena, 
it  is  inough  for  pages  to  waite  on  beautifull  ladies  and 
not  to  be  beautifull  themselves. 

"Oh!   mistres,"  answers  the  she-page,  who  cannot 
help   feeling  some  spite,  "  holde  your  peace,  for  you 
are  partiail  ;    who    knowes    not,   but  that  all   women 
have   desire  to  tie  sovereigntie  to  their  peticoats,  and 
ascribe  beautie   to  themselves,   where  if  boyes  might 
put  on  their  garments,  perhaps  they  would  proove  as 
comely  ;  if  not  as  comely,  it  hiay  be  more  curteous." 
^        There  are  also  some  morning  scenes  full  of  pleasant 
mirth    and    cheerful    light,    in    which    perhaps    there 
I    is    more   of    Phoebus    than  of  the   sun,   and  more  of 
I   Aurora  than  of  the  dawn  ;   but  this  light,  such  as  it 
'   is,  is  worth  the  looking  at,  so  merrily  it  shines  ;  and 
the  talk  of  these  early  risers  well  suits  the  half-classic 
landscape, 
V  "  The  sunne  was   no  sooner  stept  from  the  bed  of 

Aurora,  but  Aliena  was   wakened  by  Ganimede,  who 
j    restlesse  all  night,  had  tossed  in  her  passions  ;  saying 
/     it  was  then  time  to  goe  to  the   field  to  unfold  their 
sheepe. 

"  Aliena  .  .  .  replied  thus  :  What  ?  wanton,  the  sun 


Z  YL  Y'S  LEG  A  TEES,  2 1 1 

is  but  new  up,  and  as  yet  Iris  riches  lies  folded  in  the 
bosom  of  Flora  ;  Phoebus  hath  not  dried  the  pearled 
deaw,  and  so  long  Coridon  hath  taught  me  it  is  not 
fit  to  lead  the  sheepe  abroad  lest  the  deaw  being 
unwholesome  they  get  the  rot.  But  now  see  I  the 
old  proverbe  true  .  .  ."  (and  here  comes  some 
euphuism). 

*'  Come  on,"  answers  Ganimede,  who  does  not  seem 
in  a  mood  to  appreciate  euphuism  just  then,  *'  this 
sermon  of  yours  is  but  a  subtiltie  to  Ue  still  a  bed, 
because  either  you  think  the  morning  colde,  or  els  I 
being  gone,  you  would  steale  a  nappe ;  this  shifte 
carries  no  palme,  and  therefore  up  and  away.  And 
for  Love,  let  me  alone ;  He  whip  him  away  with 
nettles  and  set  Disdaine  as  a  charme  to  withstand  his 
forces  ;  and  therefore,  looke  you  to  your  selfe ;  be  not 
too  bolde,  for  Venus  can  make  you  bend  ;  nor  too  coy, 
for  Cupid  hath  a  piercing  dart  that  will  make  you  cry 
Feccavi. 

"  And  that  is  it,  quoth  Aliena,  that  hath  raysed 
you  so  early  this  morning  ? 

"  And  with  that  she  slipt  on  her  peticoate,  and 
start  up  ;  and  assoone  as  she  had  made  her  readie 
and  taken  her  breakfast,  away  goe  these  two  with 
their  bagge  and  bottles  to  the  field,  in  more  pleasant 
content  of  mind  than  ever  they  were  in  the  court  of 
Torismond." 

In  the  same  way  as  in  Shakespeare,  fair  Phoebe, 
deceived  by  Rosalind's  dress,  Phoebe,  who  thought 
herself  beyond  the  reach  of  love,  becomes  enamoured 
of  the  page  and  feels  at  last  all  the  pangs  of  an 
unrequited  passion.     Lodge's    Rosalind,    more    human 


2 1 2  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

we  think  than  her  great  Shakespearean  sister,  uses,  to 
persuade  Phoebe  into  loving  Montanus,  a  kindly,  tender 
language,  meant  to  heal  rather  than  irritate  the  poor 
shepherdess's  wounds.  "  What  ! "  will  exclaim  the 
great  sister,  ...       / 

"...  What  though  you  have  no  beauty  .  .  . 
Must  you  b^  therefore  proud  and  pitiless  ? 
Why,  wlyt  means  this  ?     Why  do  you  look  on  me  r 
I  see  noonore  in  you  than  in  the  ordinary 
Of  ng/ure's  sale-work  :  Od's  my  little  life  ! 
I  think  she  means  to  tangle  my  eyes  too  : — 
N0,  'faith,  proud  mistress,  hope  not  after  it  ; 

is  not  your  inky  brows,  your  black  silk-hair, 
Your  bugle  eyeballs,  nor  your  cheek  of  cream 
That  can  entame  my  spirits  to  your  worship."  ^ 


Very  spiritless,  and  tame,  and  old  fashioned,  will 
the  other  Rosalind  appear  by  the  side  of  this 
impetuous,  relentless  deity.  A  few  perhaps  will 
consider  that  her  tame,  kindly,  old-fashioned,  mytho- 
logical piece  of  advice  to  the  shepherdess,  makes  her 
the  more  lovable  :  '^  What,  shepheardesse,  so  fayre  and 
so  cruell.?  .  .  .  Because  thou  art  beautifull,  be  not  so 
coye :  as  there  is  nothing  more  faire,  so  there  is  nothing 
more  fading,  as  momentary  as  the  shadowes  which 
growes  from  a  cloudie  sunne.  Such,  my  faire 
shepheardesse,  as  disdaine  in  youth,  desire  in  age,  and 
then  are  they  hated  in  the  winter,  that  might  have 
been  loved  in  the  prime.  A  wrinkled  maid  is  like 
a  parched  rose,  that  is  cast  up  in  coffers  to  please 
the  smell,  not  worn  in  the  hand  to  content  the  eye. 
There  is  no  folly  in  love  to  had-I-wist,  and  therefore, 

^  "As  you  like  it,"  act  iii.  sc.  5. 


L  YL  YS  LEG  A  TEES.  2 1 3 

be  rulde  by  me.  Love  while  thou  art  young,  least 
thou  be  disdained  when  thou  art  olde.  Beautie  nor 
time  cannot  bee  recalde,  and  if  thou  love,  like  of 
Montanus  ;  for  if  his  desires  are  manie,  so  his  deserts 
are  great."  ^  And  it  is  indeed  quite  touching  to  see 
poor  Montanus  in  the  simplest  lover  fashion  verify  by 
his  acts  this  description  of  himself  ;  for  while  reduced 
to  the  last  degree  of  despair,  seeing  the  unconquerable 
love  Phoebe  entertains  for  the  page,  he  beseeches 
Rosalind  to  save  her  by  returning  her  love  ;  sorrow 
will  kill  him  any  way,  but  he  will  die  contented 
if  he  thinks  that  even  through  another's  love  Phoebe 
will  live  happy  in  her  Arcadian  vale. 

I  need  not  add  that  all  these  troubles  end  as  happily 
as  possible  ;  the  storms  pass  away  and  a  many-coloured 
rainbow  encompasses  Arden,  Arcady,  and  the  kingdom 
of  France  ;  every  lover  becomes  loved,  the  three 
couples  get  married,  and  while  the  music  of  the  bridal 
fete  is  still  in  our  ears,  news  is  brought  that  "  hard 
by,  at  the  edge  of  this  forest,  the  twelve  peers  of 
France  are  up  in  arms  "  to  recover  Gerismond's  rights. 
They  accomplish  this  feat  in  a  twinkling,  as  French 
peers  should  ;  why  they  did  not  do  it  before  does  not 
appear  :  probably  because  the  treble  marriage  would 
not  have  looked  so  pretty  in  Notre  Dame  as  under  the 
lemon  trees.  There  is  much  bloodshed  of  course,  but 
it  is  blood  we  do  not  care  for,  and  we  are  allowed 
to  part  from  our  shepherd  friends  with  the  pleasing 
thought  that  they  will  see  no  end  to  their  loves  and 
happiness. 

Such  is  "  Euphues  golden  legacy,"  one  of  the  best 
^  "Works,"  vol.  ii,  pp.  29,  30,  31,  49. 


214  THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL. 

examples  of  the  sort  of  novel  that  was  being  written 
at  this  period.  It  has  all  the  characteristics  of  this 
kind  of  writing  such  as  it  had  come  to  be 
understood  at  that  date  ;  prose  is  mixed  with  verse, 
and  several  of  Lodge's  best  songs  are  included  in 
"  Rosalynde  "  ;  it  is  full  of  meditations  and  monologues 
like  those  with  which  the  neo-classic  drama  of  the 
French  school  has  made  us  familiar. ^  In  the  more 
important  places,  in  monologues,  speeches  and  letters 
euphuistic  style  usually  prevails  'f^  the  chronology 
and  geography  of  the  tale,  its  logic  and  probability, 
the  grouping  of  events  are  of  the  loosest  description  ; 
but  it  has  moreover  a  freshness  and  sometimes  a  pathos 
which  is  more  easily  felt  than  expressed  and  of  which 
the  above  quotations  may  have  given  some  idea. 

In  "  Rosalynde"  we  see  Lodge  at  his  best.     Perhaps, 

^"Saladin's  meditation  with  himself:  *Saladin,  art  thou  dis- 
quieted in  thy  thoughts  ?' "  &c.  "  Rosalind's  passion  : '  Unfortunate 
Rosalind,  whose  misfortunes  are  more  than  thy  years,'"  &c. 
*'  Aliena's  meditation  :  '  Ah  !  me  ;  now  I  see,  and  sorrowing  sigh 
to  see  that  Diana's  laurels  are  harbours  for  Venus  doves,'  "  &c. 

(pFor  example,  in  "the  schedule  annexed  to  Euphues  testament," 
by  which  the  dying  man  leaves  the  book  to  Philautus  for  the 
benefit  of  his  children.  They  will  find  in  it  what  is  fit  for  the 
God  Love,  "roses  to  whip  him  when  he  is  wanton,  reasons  to 
whistant  him  when  he  is  wilie."'  In  the  same  manner  Sir  John  of 
Bourdeaux  informs  his  sons  that  "  a  woman's  eye  as  it  is  precious 
to  behold,  so  is  it  prejudicial  to  gaze  upon  "  ;  Rosalind  observes  to 
herself  that  "  the  greatest  seas  have  the  sorest  stormes,  the  highest 
birth  is  subject  to  the  most  bale  and  of  all  trees  the  cedars  soonest 
shake  with  the  wind,"  &c.  The  same  style  is  used  in  "  Euphues 
shadow  "  in  "  Robin  the  divell,"  &c.  :  "  Thou  art  like  the  verven 
(Nature)  poyson  one  wayes,  and  pleasure  an  other,  feeding  me  with 
grapes  in  shewe  lyke  to  Darius  vine,  but  not  in  substance  lyke 
those  of  Vermandois  "     ("  Robin  the  divell  "). 


L  YL  TS  LEG  A  TEES. 


215 


remembering  his  threats,  it  is  better  not  to  try  to  see 
him  at  his  worst  ;  it  will  therefore  be  sufficient  to  add 
that,  having  published  also  satires  and  epistles  imitated 
from  Horace,  eclogues,  some  other  short  stories  or 
romances,  a  translation  of  the  philosophical  works  of 
Seneca,  two  or  three  incoherent  dramas  (in  one  of  which 
a  whale  comes  on  to  the  stage,  and  without  any 
ceremony  vomits  forth  the  prophet  Jonah), i  Lodge 
changed  his  profession  once  again,  abandoned  the 
sword  for  the  lancet,  became  a  physician,  gained  a 
fortune,  and  died  quietly  a  rich  citizen  in  1625. 

He  had  thus  lived  beyond  the  period  of  Lyly's 
fame,  of  Greene's  reputation,  of  Shakespeare's 
splendour,  and  saw,  before  he  died,  the  beginnings 
of  a  new  and  very  different  era  in  which  both  the 
drama  and  the  novel  were  to  undergo,  as  we  shall 
see,  many  and  vast  transformations. 

^  "  A  Looking  glasse  for  London  and  England."  This  drama 
was  written  by  Lodge  and  by  his  friend  Greene.  The  following 
stage  direction  occurs  in  it  :  "  lonas  the  prophet  cast  out  of  the 
whales  belly  upon  the  stage." 


SCORPIO. 


Imp  Wiiimann  Par 


SIR    PHILIP    SIDNEY 


from    (he   nujuada'c  In/    JS  A\C  OLI\  I'.ll ,  at    Windsor  Casdo 


?A'^^ 


PENSHURST,  Sidney's  birthplace. 


CHAPTER   V. 


SIR    PHILIP    SIDNEY    AND    PASTORAL    ROMANCE. 


WHEN  nowadays  we  see  our  shepherds,  wrapped 
in  their  long  brown  cloaks,  silently  fpllowing 
the  high  roads  in  the  midst  of  a  suffocating 
dust  which  seems  to  come  out  of  their  sheep,  it  is 
difficult  to  explain  the  enthusiasm  that  has  ascribed  to 
this  race  of  mutes  such  fine  speeches  and  such  pleasant 
adventures.  Greeks,  Romans,  Italians,  Spaniards,  the  v 
French  and  the  English,  have  differed  in  a  multitude  / 
of  points,  but  they  have  one  and  all  delighted  in 
pastorals.  No  class  of  heroes  either  in  history  or 
fiction  has  uttered  so  much  verse  and  prose  as  the 
keepers  of  sheep.  Neither  Ajax  son  of  Telamon,  nor 
the  wise  king  of  Ithaca,  nor  Merlin,  Lancelot,  or 
Charlemagne,   nor  even    the    inexhaustible  Grandison, 

13 


2 1 8  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

can  bear  the  least  comparison  with  Tityrus.  It  is 
easy  to  give  many  reasons  for  this ;  but  the  phe- 
nomenon still  remains  somewhat  strange.  The  best 
explanation  is  perhaps  that  the  pastoral  is  one  of  the 
most  convenient  pretexts  existing  for  saying  what  would 
otherwise  be  embarrassing.  To  many  authors  the 
eclogue  is  like  a  canvas  for  trying  their  colours 
and  brushes.  Many  would  not  willingly  confess 
it,  and  Pope  would  have  vowed  a  mortal  hatred 
'  to  any  one  who  explained  his  eclogues  thus :  but  it 
is  better  for  his  reputation  to  believe  that  he  had  at 
least  that  reason  for  writing  them.  For  some,  the 
pastoral  is  an  allegory,  where,  if  one  would,  place 
can  be  given  to  Cynthia,  Queen  of  the  Sea,  that  is  to 
say,  to  Elizabeth,  and  to  a  Shepherd  of  the  Ocean  who 
is  Raleigh ;  it  allows  the  poet  to  speak  to  kings, 
to  ask  alms  discreetly  of  them,  and  to  thank  them. 

In  England  in  Shakespeare's  time  people  were  pas- 
sionately fond  of  the  country  of  Arcadia,  not  the 
Arcady  "  for  better  for  worse  "  that  can  be  seen  any- 
where outside  London,!  but  the  old  poetical  Arcadia, 
the  Arcadia  of  nowhere,  which  was  the  more  cherished 
on  account  of  its  non-existence.  They  could  invent  at 
their  ease,  imagine  prodigious  adventures  and  wonderful 
amours  ;  since  no  one  had  ever  been  in  Arcadia,  it 
was  hardly  possible  for  any  one  to  protest  that  events 
happened  differently  there.  To-day  we  think  in  quite 
another  way  ;  we  must  be  told  of  well-ascertained 
facts,  of  warranted  catastrophes,  at  once  certified  and 

^  And  which  has  been  faithfully  and  touchingly  described  in 
Dr.  Jessopp's  book  :  "  Arcady  :  For  better,  for  worse/'  recently 
published  in  London. 


PHILIP  SIDNEY  AND  PASTORAL  ROMANCE.    219 

provable.  That  is  why  the  action  of  our  novels,  far 
from  carrying  us  into  Arcadia,  often  unfolds  itself  in 
our  kitchens  and  on  our  back  staircases.  It  is  not  at 
all  as  it  was  in  the  time  of  Robert  Greene. 

Very  rarely  now  does  any  one  ask  if  perchance  some 
of  these  "  Arcadias,"  so  cherished  by  our  fathers,  con- 
tained their  share  of  enduring  beauty,  or  if  their 
lasting  success  is  to  be  explained  otherwise  than  by 
their  improbabilities  and  their  artificial  embellishments. 
Nevertheless  the  study  might  be  profitable,  for  it  must 
be  borne  in  mind  that  the  readers  of  these  romances 
went  in  the  afternoon  to  the  "Globe"  to  see  Shakespeare 
play  his  own  pieces,  and  that,  admitting  their  fondness 
for  such  dramas,  in  which,  without  speaking  of  other 
merits,  the  kitchen  is  sometimes  the  place  represented, 
it  would  be  surprising  to  find  only  mere  nonsense  in 
the  whole  collection  of  their  favoured  romances.  Let 
these  suggestions  justify  us  at  need  in  examining  one 
more  Arcadia  :  besides,  it  is  not  that  of  a  penniless 
Bohemian  ;  it  is  the  Arcadia  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  the 
pattern  of  chivalrous  perfection  under  Elizabeth.  His 
life  is  not,  in  its  way,  less  characteristic  of  his  time 
than  that  of  starving  Robert  Greene,  or  of  Thomas 
Lodge  the  corsair. 


L 


Born  in    1554,  in  the  noble  castle  of  Penshurst  in 
Kent,^  Sidney  passed  a  part  of  his  childhood  in  Ludlow 

^  Besides  its  fine  collection  of  family  portraits,  one  of  which  is 
reproduced  in  this  volume,   by  the   kind  permission  of  Lord  de 


2 20  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

Castle,  where  in  the  next  century  Milton's  "Comus" 
was  to  be  represented.  At  college  he  was  famous  for 
his  personal  charm,  his  knowledge,  and  the  thoughtful 
turn  of  his  mind.  "  I  knew  him,"  wrote  in  later  years 
his  friend  and  companion  Fulke  Greville,  ^'  with  such 
staiednesse  of  mind,  lovely  and  familiar  gravity,  as 
carried  grace  and  reverence  above  greater  years."  ^ 
During  the  year  1572  he  was  staying  in  France, 
where  he  had  been  appointed  by  King  Charles  IX. 
one  of  the  gentlemen  of  his  chamber.  It  was  the  time 
of  the  St.  Bartholomew  massacre,  and  Sidney,  who 
belonged  to  the  English  mission,  remained  in  the  house 
of  Sir  Francis  Walsingham,  the  Queen's  ambassador, 
and  escaped  the  perils  of  that  terrible  day. 

He  left  France  shortly  after  and  travelled  in  several 
countries  of  Europe,  studying  men  and  nations,  storing 
his  mind  with  information ;  he  was  comparatively  free 
from  prejudice,  and  believed  that  useful  examples  and 
precepts  might  be  obtained  even  from  "the  great 
Turk."  "  As  surely,"  did  he  write  some  years  later 
to  his  brother  Robert,  "  in  the  great  Turk,  though 
we  have  nothing  to  do  with  him,  yet  his  discipline 
in  war  matters  is  .  .  .  worthy  to  be  known  and 
learned.  Nay  even  the  kingdom  of  China  which  is 
almost  as  far  as  the  Antipodes  from  us,  their  good 
laws   and    customs  are    to    be   learned."  ^     In  such  a 

risle  and  Dudley,  Penshurst  is  remarkable  because  it  offers  to  this 
day  a  perfect  example  of  a  fourteenth-century  hall  with  the  fire- 
place in  the  middle. 

^  "Life   of   the   renowned    S"  Philip   Sidney,"   London,   1652, 
i2mo. 

2  "  The  Correspondence  of  Sir  Ph.  Sidney  and  Hubert  Languet," 
ed.  Pears,  London,  1845,  8vo,  Appendix;  a.d.  1579  (?) 


PHILIP  SIDNEY  AND  PASTORAL  ROMANCE.     221 

disposition  of  mind  he  visited  successively  Germany, 
Austria,  Hungary,  and  Italy.  The  most  interesting 
incident  of  his  journey  was  the  acquaintance  he  made 
with  a  Frenchman,  the  political  thinker  Hubert 
Languet,  from  whom  Milton,  a  long  time  before 
Rousseau,  probably  derived  his  ideas  of  the  social 
contract  "  foedus,"  says  Languet,  "inter  [principem]  and 
populum,"  and  his  theories  on  the  right  of  insurrec- 
tion. ^  A  most  tender  friendship  was  formed  between 
the  revolutionary  writer  and  the  aristocratic  Sidney. 
They  began  a  correspondence  which  did  not  cease  till 
the  former's  death  in  158 1.  Languet  had  great  in- 
fluence over  his  young  friend,  and  was  constantly 
giving  him  most  manly  advice  and  that  best  suited 
to  strengthen  his  character,  warning  him  especially  in 
very  wise  fashion  against  a  melancholy  unsuitable  to 
his  age,  which  in  the  grave  Huguenot's  opinion  was 
only  a  useless  impedimentum  in  life.  "  I  readily  allow," 
wrote  Sidney,  in  answer  to  his  friend's  remonstrances, 
''  that  I  am  often  more  serious  than  either  my  age  or 
my  pursuits  demand."  ^  That  this  tendency  to  pensive- 
ness  left  its  trace  on  his  features  may  be  seen  in 
most  of  his  portraits,  among  others  in  that  by  Isaac 
Oliver,  of  which  we  give  a  reproduction. 

The  most  interesting  of  Sidney's  portraits  is  unfortu- 
nately lost.  He  sat  for  it  while  in  Italy,  at  the  request 
of  his  friend,  and  chose  no  mean  artist  to  paint  it  : 
''  As  soon  as  ever  I  return  to  Venice,  I  will  have  it 
done,  either  by  Paul  Veronese  or  by  Tintoretto,  who 
hold  by  far  the  highest  place  in  the  art."     He  decided 

^  "  Vindictae  contra  tyrannos,"  Edinburgh,  1579,  part  iii. 
2  Padua,  February  4,  1574,  "Correspondence,"  p.  29. 


2 2  2  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

for  Veronese,  and  sent  the  picture  to  Languet,  who 
wrote  shortly  after :  "  As  long  as  I  enjoyed  the  sight 
of  you,  I  made  no  great  account  of  the  portrait  you 
gave  me,  and  scarcely  thanked  you  for  so  beautiful 
a  present.  I  was  led  by  regret  for  you  on  my  return 
from  Frankfort  to  place  it  in  a  frame  and  fix  it  in  a 
conspicuous  place.  When  I-  had  done  this,  it  appeared 
to  me  so  beautiful  and  so  strongly  to  resemble  you 
that  I  possess  nothing  that  I  value  more  .  .  .  The 
painter  has  represented  you  sad  and  thoughtful.  I 
should  have  been  better  pleased  if  your  face  had  worn 
a  more  cheerful  look  when  you  sat  for  the  painting."  ^ 
When  Languet  died,  Sidney  described  his  sentiments 
for  him  in  a  touching  poem,  inserted  in  his  '^Arcadia"  ; 
it  was  sung  by  the  shepherd  Philisides,  who  represents 
the  author  himself  and  whose  name  is  a  contraction 
of  the  words  Philip  Sidney  : 

"I  sate  me  downe  ;  for  see  to  goe  ne  could, 
And  sang  unto  my  sheepe  lest  stray  they  should. 
The  song  I  sang  old  Lan[g]uet  had  me  taught, 
Lan[g]uet,  the  shepeard  best  swift  Ister  knew, 
For  clearkly  reed,  and  hating  what  is  naught, 
For  faithfull  heart,  cleane  hands  and  mouth  as  true. 
With  his  sweet  skill  my  skillesse  youth  he  drew, 
To  have  a  feeling  taste  of  him  that  sits 
Beyorrd  the  heaven,  farre  more  beyond  our  wits  .   .  . 
With  old  true  tales  he  wont  mine  eares  to  fill. 
How  shepeards  did  of  yore,  how  now  they  thrive  .  .  . 
He  liked  me,  but  pitied  lustfull  youth  : 
His  good  strong  stafFe  my  slipperie  yeares  upbore  : 
He  still  hop'd  well  because  I  loved  truth."  ^ 


A.D.  1575,  "  Correspondence,"  p.  94.  ^  "Arcadia/''  bk.  iii. 


PHILIP  SIDNEY  AND  PASTORAL  ROMANCE.     223 

In  1575,  when  twenty-one  years  old,  Sidney  returned 
to  shine  at  court,  where  his  uncle  Leicester,  the  Queen's 
favourite  was  to  make  all  things  easy  for  him.  He 
assisted  that  year  at  the  fetes  given  in  Elizabeth's 
honour  at  Kenilworth,  in  those  famous  gardens  ^'  though 
not  so  goodly,"  writes  a  witness  of  the  festivities,  "  as 
Paradis,  for  want  of  the  fayr  rivers,  yet  better  a  great 
deal  by  the  lack  of  so  unhappy  a  tree."  ^  Then  Sidney 
accompanied  the  Queen  to  C  hartley,  and  these  cere- 
monies mark  a  great  epoch  in  his  existence.  While 
Elizabeth  listened  to  the  compliments  of  her  enter- 
tainers, Sidney's  eyes  were  fixed  on  a  child.  A 
sentiment,  the  flill  strength  of  which  he  was  to  feel 
only  in  after  time,  sprang  up  in  his  heart  for  Penelope 
Devereux,  the  twelve-year-old  daughter  of  the  Earl 
of  Essex,  who  was  as  beautiful  as  Dante's  Beatrice. 
He  began  to  visit  at  her  father's  house  frequently  ;  it 
seemed  as  if  a  marriage  would  ensue  ;  Essex  himself 
was  favourable  to  it,  but  for  some  cause  or  other  Sidney 
did  not  press  his  suit ;  and  while  his  friend  Languet 
strongly  advised  him  to  marry,  he  was  answering  him 
in  the  leisurely  style  of  one  who  believes  himself 
heart-whole  :  *'  Respecting  her  of  whom  I  readily 
acknowledge  how  unworthy  I  am,  I  have  written  you 
my  reasons  long  since,  briefly  indeed,  but  yet  as  well 
as  I  was  able."  2  He  was  soon  to  write  in  a  very 
different  manner.  Penelope,  the  Stella  of  Sidney's 
verse,  was,  very  much  against  her  will,  compelled  at 
last  by  her '  family  to  marry  the  wealthy  Lord  Rich, 

^  "  Captain  Cox  his  ballads  ...  or  Robert  Laneham's  Letter, 
1575,"  ed.  Furnivall,  London,  Ballad  Society,  1871,  8vo,  p.  53. 
-  "  Correspondence,"  2^/ j-///)r/7,  March  i.  1578. 


2  24  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

and  then  Sidney  awoke  to  his  fate  :  what  he  had 
believed  to  be  mere  inclination,  a  light  feeling  of  which 
he  would  always  remain  the  master,  had  from  the  first 
been  Love,  irrepressible,  unconquerable  love  : 

''  I  might ; — unhappie  word — O  me,  I  might, 
And  then  would  not,  or  could  not  see  my  blisse ; 
Till  now  wrapt  in  a  most  infernall  night, 
I  find  how  heav'nly  day,  wretch  !   I  did  miss."  ^ 

He  remained  a  lover  of  Stella,  saw  her,  wrote  to 
her,  sang  of  her,  and  at  length  ascertained  that  she 
too,  despite  her  marriage  ties,  loved  him.  He  continued 
then,  in  altered  tones,  the  magnificent  series  of  sonnets 
dedicated  to  her  and  which  read  still  like  a  love-drama 
of  real  life,  a  love-drama  which  is  all  summarized  in 
the  beautiful  and  well-known  dirge  : 

"  Ring  out  your  belles,  let  mourning  shewcs  be  spread ; 
For  Love  is  dead  : 

All  Love  is  dead,  infected 
With  plague  of  deep  disdaine  : 

Worth,  as  nought  worth,  rejected 
And  Faith  faire  scorne  doth  gaine. 

From  so  ungratefull  fancie. 

From  such  a  femall  franzie 

From  them  that  use  men  thus. 

Good  Lord,  deliver  us  ! 

Weepe,  neighbours,  weepe  ;  do  you  not  hcare  it  said 
That  Love  is  dead  ? 


^  "  Sir  Philip  Sidney's  Astrophel  and  Stella  .  .  ,  edited  from  the 
folio  of  1598,"  by  Alfred  Pollard,  London,  1888,  8vo,  sonnet  33. 
Penelope's  marriage  with  Lord  Rich  seems  to  have  taken  place  in 
April,  1 581. 


PHILIP  SIDNEY  AND  PASTORAL  ROMANCE.     225 

Alas  I   I  lie  :  rage  hath  this  errour  bred  ; 
Love  is  not  dead  ; 

Love  is  not  dead,  but  sleepeth 
In  her  unmatched  mind. 

Where  she  his  counsell  keepeth, 
Till  due  desert  she  find. 

Therefore  from  so  vile  fancie. 

To  call  such  wit  a  franzie, 

Who  Love  can  temper  thus. 

Good  Lord,  deliver  us  !  " 

Love  that  was  not  dead  but  asleep  awoke,  and  Sidney's 
raptures  were  again  expressed  in  his  verse  : 

"  O  joy  too  high  for  my  low  stile  to  show  !   .   .   . 
For  Stella  hath,  with  words  where  faith  doth  shine. 
Of  her  high  heart  giv'n  me  the  monarchie  : 
I,  I,  O  I,  may  say  that  she  is  mine.''  ^ 

This  lasted  some  time  and  when  love  faded  away, 
at  least  in  Stella's  fickle  heart,  '^Astrophel'*  wrote  the 
real  dirge  of  his  passion. 

Sidney  had  nevertheless  continued  his  active  life  all 
this  while,  sometimes  at  court  and  sometimes  on  the 
continent,  recognized  as  a  statesman  by  statesmen,  as  a 
poet  by  poets,  as  a  perfect  knight  by  all  experts  in 
knightly  accomplishments.  Spenser  dedicated  in  1579 
his  '^  Shepheardes  Calender  "  to  *'  the  most  noble  and 
vertuous  gentleman,  most  worthy  of  all  titles,  both  of 
learning    and    chevalrie,    M.    Philip    Sidney "  2  ;    and 

^  "Astrophel  and  Stella/'  ut  supra,  pp.  170  and  72.  (sonnet  69). 
2  "  Goe  little  booke  !  thy  selfe  present 
As  childe  whose  father  is  unkent 
To  him  that  is  the  President 
Of  noblenesse  and  chevalree.   .  .   ." 
Dedication    of    the  "Shepheardes   Calender."       Sidney  seems   to 


226  THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL. 

William  the  Silent,  Prince  of  Orange,  once  said  to 
Fulke  Greville  that  "  Her  Majesty  had  one  of  the  ripest 
and  greatest  counsellors  of  estate  in  Sir  Philip  Sidney 
that  at  this  day  lived  in  Europe."  The  remaining 
years  of  his  short  life  were  well  filled  ;  he  had  been 
ambassador  to  the  German  Emperor  in  1577  ;  he  had 
taken  part  at  home,  though  unasked,  in  the  negotiations 
concerning  the  Queen's  marriage,  and  he  lost  favour 
for  a  while  on  account  of  the  extraordinary  freedom 
with  which  he  had  written  to  Elizabeth  against  the 
French  match.  He  retired  from  court  at  that  moment 
and  went  to  live  in  the  country ;  while  staying  with 
his  sister  at  Wilton  in  the  midst  of  congenial  sur- 
roundings, he  wrote  most  of  his  "  Arcadia  "  (1580). 
He  was  a  member  of  Parliament  in  158 1  and  1584, 
and  married  in  1583  the  daughter  of  Sir  Francis 
Walsingham.  He  all  but  accompanied  Drake  to 
America,  where  he  had  received  from  the  Queen  a  large 
'  grant  of  lands  ;  he  became  at  last  Governor  of  Flushing 
in  the  Netherlands.  He  died  in  that  country  at  thirty- 
one  years  of  age,  in  1586,  of  a  wound  received  at 
Zutphen  ;  a  premature  death  that  gave  the  finishing 
touch  to  men's  sympathy  and  love  for  him  ;  all 
England  wept  for  him.^     Even  now,  it  is  difficult  to 

have  had  a  right  and  not  over-enthusiastic  appreciation  of  Spenser's 
eclogues  ;  in  his  "  Apologie  for  Poetrie  "  he  is  content  to  say  that 
,  "  the  Sheapheardes  Kalender  hath  much  poetrie  in  his  eglogues : 
indeede  worthy  the  reading  if  I  be  not  deceived  "  (Arber's  reprint, 
p.  62). 

^  The  elegies  written  on  this  occasion  are  counted  by  the 
hundred.  A  splendid  series  of  engravings  were  published  by 
T.  Laut  to  perpetuate  the  memory  of  Sidney's  funeral,  London, 

1587. 


PHILIP  SIDNEY  AND  PASTORAL  ROMANCE.    227 

think  unmoved  of  his  well-filled  career  ending  on 
the  eve  of  the  great  triumphs  of  his  country,  to  call 
to  our  memory  this  brave  man  who  died  with  his  face 
to  the  enemy  without  knowing  that  victory  would  be 
declared  for  his  side,  without  having  known  Shake- 
speare, without  having  seen  the  defeat  of  the  Armada. 

As  for  his  Stella  she  survived  him  only  too  long.  A 
few  years  after  Sidney's  death  she  deserted  her  husband 
by  whom  she  had  had  seven  children,  and  became  the 
m.istress  of  Charles  Blount,  Lord  Mountjoy,  afterwards 
Earl  of  Devonshire,  to  whom  she  gave  three  sons  and 
two  daughters.  Lord  Rich,  a  man  full  of  prudence  it 
seems,  waited  for  the  death  of  the  Earl  of  Essex,  his 
wife's  brother,  to  divorce  her.  She  then  married  her 
lover  in  1605.  But  till  her  death,  which  happened  in 
1608  she  was  mostly  remembered  as  having  been 
Sidney's  friend,  and  books  were  dedicated  to  her  because 
she  had  been  Astrophel's  "  Stella."  Thus  Yong's 
translation  of  the  ''  Diana  "  of  Montemayor,  a  pastoral 
from  which  Sidney  had  taken  many  hints,  is  dedicated 
to  her. I  Thus  again  Florio  asks  her  conjointly  with 
Sidney's  daughter  2  to  patronize  the  second  book  of 
Montaigne's  Essays,  addressing  Penelope,  in  the  extra- 
ordinary style  that  belonged  to  him  :  "  I  meane  you 
(truely  richest  Ladie  Rich)  in  riches  of  fortune  not 
deficient,  but  of  body  incomparably  richer,  of  minde 
most  rich  :  who  yet,  like  Cornelia,  were  you  out- vied, 
or  by  rich  shewes  envited  to  shew  your  richest  jewelles, 

^  London,  1598,  fol. 

2  Sidney  left  only  one  daughter  who  became  Countess  of  Rut- 
land. His  wife  remarried  twice,  first  with  the  Earl  of  Essex, 
brother  of  Penelope,  then  with  Lord  Clanricarde. 


228  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

would  stay  till  your  sweet  images  (your  deere-sweete 
children)  came  from  schoole."  And  then,  addressing 
the  ladies  together,  both  the  daughter  and  the  mistress 
of  the  departed  hero  :  '^  I  know  not  this  nor  any  I 
have  seen,  or  can  conceive,  in  this  or  other  language, 
can  in  aught  be  compared  to  that  perfect-imperfect 
Arcadia,  which  all  our  world  yet  weepes  with  you,  that 
your  all  praise-exceeding  father  (his  praise-succeeding 
countesse)  your  worthy  friend  (praise-worthiest  lady) 
lived  not  to  mend  or  end  it/'  ^  Once  Astrophel  had 
sung  of  Stella,  and  now  Lady  Rich  was  praised  by  the 
pedant  Rombus. 

II. 

Sidney's  works  well  accord  with  his  life  ;  in  these  few 
years  he  had  time  to  take  in  with  a  clear  and  kindly 
glance  all  those  beauties  of  ancient  or  modern  times, 
of  distant  countries  or  of  his  own  which  set  the  hearts 

^  "  Essayes,"  London,  1603,  fol.  Dedication  of  Book  II.  This 
"  Epistle "  is  followed  by  two  sonnets,  one  to  each  lady,  again 
praising  them  for  their  connection  with  Sidney.  The  sonnet  to 
Penelope  begins  thus  : 

*'  Madame,  to  write  of  you,  and  doe  you  right, 
What  meane  we,  or  what  meanes  to  ayde  meane  might  ? 
Since  HE  who  admirably  did  endite, 
Entiteling  you  perfections  heire,  joies  light, 
Loves  life,  lifes  gemme,  vertues  court,  Heav'ns  delight, 
Natures  chiefe  worke,  fair'st  booke,  his  muses  spright, 
Heav'n  on  earth,  peerlesse  Phoenix,  Phoebe  bright, 
Yet  said  he  was  to  seeke,  of  you  to  write  "  (p.  191). 
This  last  line    alludes    to    Astrophel's     lirst     sonnet     to    Stella 
(quoted  below,  p.  233). 


PHILIP  SIDNEY  AND  PASTORAL  ROMANCE.    229 

of  his  contemporaries  beating,  and  he  is  therefore 
perhaps,  on  account  of  his  catholicity,  the  most  worthy 
of  Shakespeare's  immediate  precursors.  The  brilliance 
of  the  Spaniards  enchants  him,  and  he  translates 
fragments  of  Montemayor  ^  ;  the  Kenilworth  fetes 
amuse  him  and  he  writes  a  masque,  "  The  Lady  of 
May,"  2  to  be  used  at  like  festivities.  A  true  Christian 
he  translates  the  Psalms  of  David ;  a  tender  and 
passionate  heart,  he  rhymes  the  sonnets  of  Astrophel  to 
Stella  ;  enamoured  of  chivalry  and  great  exploits,  he 
writes,  with  fluent  pen,  his  "  Arcadia,"  where  he 
imitates  the  style  made  fashionable  in  Europe  by  Mon- 
temayor in  his  "  Diana  "  ;  a  lover  of  belles  lettres^  he 
defends  the  poet's  art  in  an  argument  charming  from 
its  youthfiilness,  vibrating  with  enthusiasm,  which 
holds  in  English  literature  the  place  filled  in  French  by 
Fenelon's  "  Lettre  a  I'Academie."  3     This  work  is  very 

^  "What  changes  here,"  &c.  "translated  out  of  the  'Diana'  of 
Montemayor  in  Spanish.  Where  Sireno  a  shepheard  pulling  out  a 
little  of  his  mistresse  Diana's  haire,  wrapt  about  in  greene  silke, 
who  now  had  utterly  forsaken  him,  to  the  haire  hee  thus  bewayled 
himselfe." — "  The  same  Sireon  .  .  .  holding  his  mistresse  glasse  .  .  . 
thus  sung."  "Certaine  sonnets  written  by  Sir  Philip  Sidney, 
never  before  printed." 

2  This  masque  was  written  in  1578  ;  and  was  performed  before 
the  Queen  when  staying  with  the  Earl  of  Leicester  at  Wanstead. 
Sidney  wrote  also  for  festivities  of  the  same  kind  a  "Dialogue 
betweene  two  shepheards,  uttered  in  a  pastorall  shew  at  Wilton  " 
(the  seat  of  his  sister  the  Countess  of  Pembroke).  Both  works  are 
to  be  found  in  divers  old  editions  of  the  "Arcadia"  [e.g.^  the 
eighth,  1633,  fol.),  which  in  fact  contain,  very  nearly,  Sidney's 
complete  works. 

3  The  "Apologie"  written  about  1581,  which  circulated  in 
MS.  during  Sidney's  life-time,  was  published  only  after  his  death  : 


230  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

important  with  regard  to  the  subject  that  now  occupies 
us,  not  only  because  Sidney  gives  in  it  his  opinion  on 
works  of  fiction  in  general  ;  but  because  here  we  have 
at  last  a  specimen  of  flexible,  spirited,  fluent  prose, 
without  excessive  ornament  of  style,  or  learned  impedi- 
menta^ a  specimen  of  that  prose  which  is  exactly  suited 
to  novels  and  that  no  one — Roger  Ascham  perhaps 
excepted — had  until  then  used  in  England. 

Perhaps  it  will  be  found,  he  writes  at  the  beginning 
of  his  work,  with  the  elegant  gracefulness  of  a 
man  who  knows  how  to  do  everything  that  he  does 
well,  that  I  carry  my  apology  to  excess  ;  but  that  is 
excusable  :  listen  to  what  Pietro  Pugliano,  my  master 
of  horsemanship,  at  the  Emperor's  Court,  said  :  '  Hee 
sayde  souldiours  were  the  noblest  estate  of  mankinde, 
and  horsemen,  the  noblest  of  souldiours.  Hee  sayde, 
they  were  the  maisters  of  warre,  and  ornaments  of 
peace  :  speedy  goers  and  strong  abiders,  triumphers 
both  in  camp  and  courts."  For  a  prince  no  accom- 
plishment is  comparable  to  that  of  being  a  good 
horseman  ;  "  skill  of  government  was  but  a  Pedanteria 
in  comparison  :  then  would  hee  adde  certaine  prayses, 
by  telling  what  a  peerlesse  beast  a  horse  was.  The 
onely  serviceable  courtier  without  flattery,  the  beast  of 
most  beutie,  faithfulnes,  courage,  and  such  more,  that 
if  I  had  not  beene  a  peece  of  a  logician  before  I  came  to 
him,  I  think  he  would  have  perswaded  mee  to  have 
wished  my  selfe  a  horse.  But  thus  much  at  least  with 
his  no  fewe  words  hee  drave  into  me,  that  selfe-love  is 

'"  An  Apologie  for  Poetrie,  written  by  the  right  noble,  vertuous  and 
learned  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  Knight,"  London,  1595,  reprinted  by 
Arber,  London,  1869. 


PHILIP  SIDNEY  AND  PASTORAL  ROMANCE.     231 

better  then  any  guilding  to  make  that  seeme  gorgious, 
wherein  our  selves  are  parties.  Wherein,  if  Pugliano 
his  strong  affection  and  weake  arguments  will  not 
satisfie  you,  I  wil  give  you  a  neerer  example  of  my 
selfe,  who  (I  knowe  not  by  what  mischance)  in  these  my 
not  old  yeres  and  idelest  times,  having  slipt  into  the 
title  of  a  poet,  am  provoked  to  say  somthing  unto 
you  in  the  defence  of  that  my  unelected  vocation/' 

Set  at  ease  by  Pugliano's  example,  who  seems  to  have 
had  the  same  veneration  for  the  horse  as  his  country- 
man Vinci,  Sidney  enters  on  his  defence  and  does  not 
restrain  himself  from  extolling  poetry  beyond  any 
product  of  the  human  mind.  Poetry  is  superior  to 
history,  to  philosophy,  to  all  forms  of  literature.  Poets 
have,  by  the  charm  of  their  works,  surpassed  the 
beauties  of  nature  and  they  have  succeeded  in  making 
"  the  too  much  loved  earth  more  lovely."  He  gives  to 
poetry,  in  effect,  an  immense  domain :  everything  that 
is  poetic  or  even  merely  a  work  of  the  imagination  is 
poetry  for  him  :  '^  there  have  beene  many  most  excellent 
poets,  that  never  versified,  and  now  swarme  many 
versifiers  that  neede  never  aunswere  to  the  name  of 
poets."  For  him,  the  romance  of  "  Theagines  and 
Cariclea  "  is  a  "  poem  "  ;  Xenophon's  "  Cyrus  "  is  '^  an 
absolute  heroicall  poem."  To  the  great  joy  of  their 
author  he  would  certainly  have  seen  an  epic  in  Chateau- 
briand's "  Martyrs."  "  It  is  not  riming  and  versing 
that  maketh  a  poet,  no  more  then  a  long  gowne  maketh 
an  advocate  :  who  though  he  pleaded  in  armor  should 
be  an  advocate  and  no  soldiour."  Even  historians 
have  sometimes  to  do  the  work  of  poets,  that  is 
imagining,  inventing,  ''  although  theyr  lippes  sounde  of 


232  THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL. 

things    doone    and  veritie    be    written    in    theyr  fore- 
heads." 

In  spite  of  his  fondness  for  the  ancients,  whose 
unities  and  messenger  he  greatly  approves,  and  of  his 
contempt  for  the  modern  drama,  such  as  it  was 
understood  in  those  pre-Shakespearean  times,  he  re- 
mains, at  bottom,  entirely  English ;  he  adores  the  old 
memorials  of  his  native  land,  and  does  not  know  his 
Virgil  better  than  his  Chaucer,  or  even  the  popular 
songs  hummed  by  the  wayfarer  along  the  high  roads. 
Irish  ballads,  English  ballads  of  Robin  Hood,  Scottish 
ballads  of  Douglas,  are  fam.iliar  to  him,  and  some  of 
them  make  him  start  as  at  the  sound  of  a  trumpet  : 
"  Certainly,  I  must  confesse  my  own  barbarousnes,  I 
never  heard  the  olde  song  of  Percy  and  Douglas,  that 
I  found  not  my  heart  mooved  more  then  with  a 
trumpet  :  and  yet  it  is  sung  by  some  blind  crouder, 
with  no  rougher  voyce  then  rude  stile  ;  which  being 
so  evill  apparelled  in  the  dust  and  cobwebbes  of  that 
unciyill  age,  what  would  it  worke,  trymmed  in  the 
gorgeous  eloquence  of  Pindar  ? "  He  would  have 
loved,  like  Moliere,  the  song  of  the  ''  roi  Henri,"  and 
like  La  Fontaine,  the  story  of  Peau  d'Ane.  But  his 
closest  sympathies  were  reserved  for  poetical  tales,  for 
the  adventures  of  Roland  and  King  Arthur,  which  are 
a  soldier's  reading,  and  even  for  the  exploits  of 
Amadis  of  Gaul.  "  I  dare  undertake  *  Orlando  fiirioso ' 
or  honest  King  Arthur  will  never  displease  a  souldier. 
.  .  .  Truely,  I  have  knowen  men,  that  even  with 
reading  '  Amadis  de  Gaule,'  which  God  knoweth 
wanteth  much  of  a  perfect  poesie,  have  found  their 
hearts  mooved  to  the  exercise  of  courtesie,  liberalitie 


PHILIP  SIDNEY  AND  PASTORAL  ROMANCE.     233 

and  especially  courage."  He  imagines  nothing  more 
enchanting  or  more  powerful  than  the  charm  of 
poetical  prose  stories,  "  any  of  which  holdeth  children 
from  play,  and  old  men  from  the  chimney  corner/' 
Their  attraction  has  something  superior,  divine  ;  for, 
he  adds  with  a  depth  of  emotion  that  appears  quite 
modern,  "  so  is  it  in  men,  most  of  which  are  childish 
in  the  best  things,  till  they  bee  cradUd  in  their 
graves."  i 

He  closes  with  a  witty  and  delightful  ending,  a 
kindly  wish  for  the  hardened  enemies  of  poetry : 
"  Yet  this  much  curse  T  must  send  you,  in  the  behalfe 
of  all  Poets,  that  while  you  live,  you  live  in  love,  and 
never  get  favour,  for  lacking  skill  of  a  sonnet  :  and 
when  you  die,  your  memory  die  from  the  earth,  for 
want  of  an  epitaph." 

Neither  did  Sidney  lack  epitaphs  ;  all  the  poets  wept 
for  him  ;  nor  was  he  wanting  in  those  favours  that  a 
sonnet  can  win,  for  he  wrote  the  most  passionate  that 
appeared  in  England  before  those  of  Shakespeare. 
Like  the  "Apologie"  they  move  us  by  their  youth 
and  sincerity ;  they  come  from  the  heart  : 

"Loving  in  truth,  and  faine  in  verse  my  love  to  show, 
That  She,  dear  She  !   might  take  some  pleasure  of  my  paine  : 
•  •••••• 

I  sought  fit  words  to  paint  the  blackest  face  of  woe, 
Studying  inventions  fine,  her  wits  to  entertaine  ; 
Oft  turning  others'  leaves,  to  see  if  thence  would  flow 
Som  fresh  and  fruitfull  showers  upon  my  sun-burn'd  brain : 
But  words  came  halting  forth  .  .  . 


^  Arber's  reprint,  pp.  46,  55,  41,  and  40. 
14 


r 


L, 


234  THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL. 

Biting  my  trewand  pen,  beating  myselfe  for  spite  : 
^^-^  *  Foole  !  '    said    my  Muse   to   me,   '  looke    in    thy    heart,  and 
write  ! '  "  ^ 

Unfortunately,  when  Sidney  took  up  his  pen  to 
write  his  ''  Arcadia,"  ^  he  no  longer  looked  into  his 
heart  ;  he  loosed  the  rein  of  his  imagination,  and, 
without  concerning  himself  with  a  critical  posterity 
/for  whom  the  book  was  not  destined,  he  only  wished, 
like  Lyly,  to  write  a  romance  for  ladies,  or  rather  for 
one  lady,  his  sister,  the  Countess  of  Pembroke,  famous  as 
his  sister,  famous  as  a  patron  of  letters,3  famous  also  as 
the  mother  of  William  Herbert,  the  future  friend  of 
Shakespeare,  the  "  W.  H."  for  whom  in  all  probability 
the  sonnets  of  the  great  poet  were  written.  Sidney 
sent  the  sheets  to  his  sister  as  fast  as  he  penned  them, 
charging  her  to  destroy  them,  a  thing  she  did  not  do,, 

^  "  The  Complete  Poems  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney,"  ed.  Grosart, 
London,  1877,  3  vol.  8vo  ;  "  Sir  Philip  Sidney'-s  Astrophel  and 
Stella  .  .  .  edited  from  the  folio  of  1598,"  by  Alfred  Pollard, 
London,  1888,  8vo. 

2  The  "Arcadia"  begun  in  1580,  appeared  after  Sidney's  death  : 
"  The  Countesse  of  Pembrokes  Arcadia,  written  by  Sir  Philippe 
Sidnei,"  London,  1590,  4to.  Several  of  the  numerous  poems 
inserted  in  the  "Arcadia"  are  written  in  classical ^ metres  ;  for 
Sidney  took  part  with  several  of  his  contemporaries  in  the  futile 
effort  made  in  England  ?s  in  France  to  apply  to  modern  languages 
the  rules  of  ancient  prosody.  The  pages  referred  to  in  the  follow- 
ing notes  are  those  of  the  edition  of  1633,  "now  the  eighth  time 
published  with  some  new  additions." 

3  And  compared  as  such  to  Octavia,  sister  of  Augustus,  by 
Meres  in  his  "  Paladis  Tamia,"  1598.  She  helped  her  brother  in 
translating  the  Psalms  of  David  and  published  various  works,  one  of 
them  being  a  translation  of  one  of  Garnier's  neo-classical  tragedies  : 
*'The    tragedie   of  Antonie,"  written  in   1590,  printed   in   1595, 


;rsity 


Imp  Witlmann  Pans 


MAHY    SIDNEY 

COUISI'1'.EGS     OF      PKT4BR0KE 
from     (he     porfraif        a(       Pons-hurS't . 


PHILIP  SIDNEY  AND  PASTORAL  ROMANCE, 


235 


The  poet  knight  only  saw  in  it  an  amusement  for 
himself  and  for  the  Countess,  and  he  gave  free  vent 
to  his  fondness  for  poetical  prose  :  *'  For  severer  eyes 
it  is  not,"  says  he  to  his  sister,  "being  but  a  trifle  and 
that  triflingly  handled.  Your  deare  selfe  can  best 
witnesse  the  manner,  being  done  in  loose  sheets  of 
paper,  most  of  it  in  your  presence,  the  rest  by  sheetes, 
sent  unto  you  as  fast  as  they  were  done.  In  summe,  a 
young  head,  not  so  well  staied  as  I  would  it  were  (and 
shall  bee  when  God  will)  having  many  fancies  begotten 
in  it,  if  it  had  not  beene  in  some  way  delivered,  w^ould 
have  growne  a  monster,  and  more  sorry  might  I  bee 
that  they  came  in  than  that  they  gat  out."  His 
^^Apologie"  was  perhaps  from  its  style  more  useful 
to  the  development  of  the  novel  than  the  *' Arcadia"  ; 
but  the  latter,  in  spite  of  its  enormous  defects  of  style  \ 
and  composition,  was  also  of  use,  and  it  is  not  unim-  y 
portant  to  note  that  its  influence  lasted  until  and  even 
beyond  the  time  of  Richardson. 

Sidney's  romance  is  not,  as  might   be   believed,  an 
enormous    pseudo-Greek    pastoral,  with    tunic-wearing      / 
shepherds  in   the    foreground,  piping    their   ditties    to 


which  contains,  conformably  to  Sidney's  taste,  messengers,  mono- 
logues and  choruses.  It  begins  thus  in  the  regular  classical  style 
of  that  time  : 


"  Since  cruel  Heav'ns  against  me  obstinate, 
Since  all  mishappes  of  the  round  engin  doo 
Conspire  my  harme  :  since  men,  since  powers  divine, 
Aire,  earth,  and  sea  are  all  injurious  : 
And  that  my  queene  her  selfe,  in  whom  I  liv'd 
The  idoll  of  my  harte,  doth  me  pursue, 
It's  meete  I  dye." 


236  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

their  flocks,  to  their  nymphs,  to  Echo.  Elizabethan 
Arcadias  were  knightly  Arcadias.  Sidney's  heroes  are 
all  princes  or  the  daughters  of  kings.  Their  adven- 
tures take  place  in  Greece,  undoubtedly,  and  among 
learned  shepherds,  but  the  great  parts  are  left  to  the 
noblemen,  and  the  distance  between  the  two  classes  is 
well  marked.  However  intelligent  and  well  bred  the 
shepherds  may  be,  they  are  only  there  for  decoration 
and  ornament,  to  amuse  the  princes  with  their  songs, 
and  to  pull  them  out  of  the  water  when  they  are 
drowning.  There  are  Amadises  and  Palmerins  in 
Sidney's  work.  Amadis  has  come  to  live  among  the 
shepherds,  but  he  remains  Amadis,  as  valiant  and  as 
ready  as  ever  to  draw  his  sword.  To  please  his  sister 
the  better,  Sidney  mingles  thus  the  two  kinds  of 
affectations  in  fashion,  the  affectation  of  pastoral  and 
of  chivalry,  taking  in  this  as  his  example  the  famous 
"  Diana  '*  of  George  de  Montemayor,  which  was  then 
the  talk  not  only  of  Spain,  but  of  all  the  reading  public 
in  Europe.  I  As  for  the  shepherds,  are  we  to  pity  them 
because  their  domain  is  invaded  by  foreign  knights,  by 
whom  they  are  dispossessed  of  the  high  rank  belonging 
to  them,  of  all  places,  in  Arcady  }  There  is  no  need 
for .  pity ;  a  time  will  come  when  they  will  repay  their 
invaders,  and  the  end  of  their  piping  has  not  come  yet. 
Leaving  their  country,  where  their  place  has  been  taken 
by  British  noblemen,  we  shall  see  them  some  day 
invade  the  land  of  their    conquerors,  and,  sitting    in 

^  The  "  Diana  "  was  turned  into  English  by  B.  Yong,  London, 
1598,  fol.  Shakespeare  derived  from  one  of  the  stories  in  Monte- 
mayor's  romance  (the  story  of  the  shepherdess  Felismena)  a  part 
of  the  plot  of  his  "  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona."    See  above  p.  1 50. 


PHILIP  SIDNEY  AND  PASTORAL  ROMANCE..  237 

their  turn  under  the  elms  of  Windsor  Park,  sing  their 
songs  at  the  call  of  Mr.  Pope.  They  will  look  a  little 
awry,  no  doubt,  among  the  mists  of  an  English 
landscape,  with  their  loose  tunics,  bare  limbs,  and 
*'  in-folio "  wigs  ;  but  they  will  prove  none  the  less 
fine  speakers,  and  they  will  for  a  time  concentrate 
upon  themselves  the  attention  of  the  capital.  Better 
still  will  be  their  treatment  at  the  hands  of  a 
Frenchman,  not  a  poet,  but  a  painter,  Gaspard.  Poussin, 
who  will  gain  more  permanent  attention  and  sympathy 
for  them  than  most  poets  when  he  will  inscribe  in  his 
canvas,  on  the  representation  of  a  ruined  tomb,  his 
famous  ''  Et  in  Arcadia  ego.''  ^ 

Sidney's  heroes,  in  the  meantime.  Prince  Musidorus 
and  Prince  Pyrocles,  the  latter  disguised  as  a  woman 
under  the  name  of  the  amazon  Zelmane,  are  in  love 
with  the  Princesses  Pamela  and  Philoclea,  daughters  of 
the  King  of  Arcady.  A  great  many  crosses  are  in  the 
way  of  the  lovers'  happiness.  They  have  to  fight 
helots,  lions,  bears,  enemies  from  Corinth.  They  lose 
each  other,  find  each  other  again,  and  relate  their 
adventures.  The  masculine  amazon  especially  does 
wonders,  for  she  has  to  fight  not  only  with  the  sword, 
but  in  argument.  She  is  so  pretty  in  woman's  costume 
that  the  old  king  Basilius,  until  then  wise  and  virtuous, 
falls  distractedly  in  love  with  her,  as  imprudent  as 
Fior-di-Spina  in  Ariosto  ;  while  the  queen,  whom  the 
disguise  does  not  deceive,  feels  an  intense  passion  spring 
up  in  her  heart  for  the  false  amazon  and  a  terrible 
jealousy  of  her  own  daughter,  Philoclea. 

Disguises  are  numerous  in  this  romance  ;   they  are 
^  Now  in  the  Louvre. 


238  THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL. 

also  frequent  in  Shakespeare's  plays  and  in  most  of 
the  novels  of  the  time.  Parthenia  gives  herself  out 
to  her  admirer,  Argalus,  as  the  Queen  of  Corinth, 
whom  she  resembles,  and  announces  her  own  death. 
As  pretended  queen  she  offers  her  hand  to  Argalus, 
to  prove  him  ;  but  he  refuses  with  horror  ;  she  then 
discovers  herself  to  this  paragon  of  lovers,  and  gives 
him  his  Parthenia  alive  and  more  loving  than  ever. 

When  we  read  now  of  such  disguises,  of  princes 
Pyrocles  dressed  as  women,  of  Rosalinds  dressed  as 
pages,  we  are  tempted  to  smile  at  the  vain  fancies  of 
the  novelists  of  the  Shakespearean  era.^  But  it  must 
not  be  forgotten  that,  after  all,  there  was  not  so  much 
invention  in  these  fancies,  and  that  living  examples  were 
not  rare  from  which  writers  might  copy.  Disguises  were 
abundantly  used  in  fetes  and  ceremonies,  but  they  were 
also  utilized  in  actual  life.  The  manners  of  the  time 
in  this  particular  are  well  illustrated  by  the  earnest 
entreaties  of  a  certain  ambassador  to  Her  Majesty 
Queen  Elizabeth,  advising  her  to  leave  her  palace 
secretly  and  travel  over  the  country  as  his  page.     The 

^  The  taste  for  these  fancies  had  been  handed  down  from  the 
Middle  Ages  ;  ladies  following  as  pages  their  own  lovers,  unknown 
to  them,  abound  in  the  French  mediaeval  literature  ;  one,  e.g., 
is  to  be  found  in  the  "  Tres  chevaleureux  Comte  d'  Artois,"  a 
very  old  talc,  of  which  we  have  only  a  version  of  the  fifteenth 
century,  but  which  existed  long  before,  and  supplied  Boccaccio 
with  the  groundwork  of  his  story  of  Giletta  of  Narbonne.  From 
Boccaccio,  this  talc  was  transferred  by  Paynter  to  his  "Palace  of 
Pleasure,"  and  from  this  work,  by  Shakespeare,  to  the  stage,  under 
the  name  of ''All's  well."  Sidney's  model  Montemayor  gives  the 
same  part  to  play,  as  we  have  seen,  to  his  pretended  shepherdess 
Felismena,  who  follows  as  his  page  her  lover  Don  Felix. 


PHILIP  SIDNEY  AND  PASTORAL  ROMANCE.     239 

Queen  was  in  no  way  ^hocked,  but  rather  pleased ; 
she  did  not  order  the  ambassador  to  be  turned  out  of 
her  palace,  but  heard  him  expound  his  plan,  wishing 
she  might  have  followed  it.  This  happened  in  one  of 
those  curious  conversations  of  which  Melville,  the 
ambassador  of  Mary  Queen  of  Scots,  has  left  us  an 
account.  Elizabeth  was  very  desirous  of  seeing  her 
'*  dear  sister  "  of  Scotland  and  of  judging  with  her  own 
eyes  what  truth  there  was  in  the  reports  concerning  her 
beauty.  "  Then  again,"  says  Melville,  "  she  wished 
that  she  might  see  the  queen  at  some  convenient  place 
of  meeting.  I  offered  to  convey  her  secretly  to  Scot- 
land by  post,  clothed  like  a  page,  that  under  this 
disguise  she  might  see  the  queen,  as  James  the  fifth 
had  gone  in  disguise  to  France  with  his  own  Am- 
bassadour,  to  see  the  Duke  of  Vendom's  sister, ^  who 
should  have  been  his  wife.  Telling  her  that  her 
chamber  might  be  kept  in  her  absence,  as  though 
she  were  sick;  that  none  needed  to  be  privy  thereto 
except  my  Lady  Strafford  and  one  of  the  grooms  of 
her  chamber. 

"  She  appeared  to  like  that  kind  of  language,  only 
answered  it  with  a  sigh,  saying  :  Alas,  if  I  might  do  it 
thus."  2 

Surely  ladies  who  "  appeared  to  like  that  kind  of 
language,"  and  men  who  were  wont  to  use  it,  would 
be  certain  to  accept  with  much  pleasure  representations 
in  plays  and  novels  of  he-Rosalinds  and  she-Pyrocles. 

In    the    midst    of  battles,    masques    and    eclogues, 

^  See  "Les   projets    de   mariage   de    Jacques  V.,"    by  Edmond 
Bapst,  Secretaire  d'Ambassade,  Paris,  1889,  8vo,  ch.  xxiv.  p.  289. 
2  "  Memoires  of  Sir  James  Melvil,"  London,  1683,  fol.,  p.  51. 


240  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

interludes  are  consecrated  to  fetes  of  chivalry.  As 
much  as  in  Italy,  France  or  England,  the  knights  of 
Arcady  challenge  each  other,  and  in  brilliant  tourna- 
ments break  lances  in  honour  of  their  mistresses. 
Sidney  himself  was  very  skilful  at  these  sports  ;  he 
proved  it  about  this  time  in  the  festivities  of  May,  1 58 1, 
by  attacking  with  his  companions,  the  Castle  of  perfect 
Beauty,  which  was  reputed  .to  contain  the  grace  and 
attractions  of  the  Queen,  a  treasure  as  may  well  be 
believed,  most  allegorical.  His  sonnets  more  than 
once  refer  to  his  prowess  in  the  lists  : 

;  "  Having  this  day,  my  horse,  my  hand,  my  lance 

.  Guided  so  well  that  I  obtain'd  the  prize, 
Both  by  the  judgment  of  the  English  eyes. 
And  of  some  sent  from  that  sweet  enemie  France  . 

Horsemen  my  skill  in  horsemanship  advance ; 
Towne-folks  my  strength  ;  a  daintier  judge  applies 
His  praise  to  sleight,  which  from  good  use  doth  rise  ; 
Some  luckie  wits  impute  it  but  a  chance  .  .   . 
Stella  lookt  on.  .   .  .  "  ^ 

In    his  letters  to  his  brother  Robert,    he    is    most 
particular   as  to    the  every-day  exercise   by  which  the 
young    man  should    improve  his  fencing.     He    could 
not  help    giving    his    tastes    to    his  Arcadian   knights. 
P  They  would,  otherwise,  have  been  considered  by  his 

l^  Via^dy-re.aders,  uninteresting  barbarians.  He  therefore 
allowed  them  good  spurs  and  a  ready  lance ;  this 
meant  civilization.  On  a  certain  day  every  knight 
appears  in  the  vale  of  Arcady,  with  drawn  sword,  and 
carrying  a  portrait  of  his   fair  lady  ;    the  painting  is 

^  Sonnet  41.      See  also  Sonnet  53. 


PHILIP  SIDNEY  AND  PASTORAL  ROMANCE.    241 

to  become  the  prey  of  the  conqueror.  The  order  of 
merit  of  the  various  beauties  is  thus  determined  by- 
blows  of  the  lance.  Pyrocles,  who,  dressed  as  a 
woman,  cannot  take  part  in  the  fighting,  has  the 
mortification  of  seeing  the  champion  of  Philoclea  bite 
the  dust  and  give  up  her  portrait.  He  goes  imme- 
diately and  secretly  puts  on  some  wretched  armour, 
lowers  his  visor,  and  like  a  brave  hero  of  romance, 
runs  into  the  lists,  throws  every  one  to  the  ground, 
regains  the  portrait,  and^  all  the  others  as  well.  He 
is  proclaimed  conqueror  of  the  tourney,  and  the  first 
of  knights,  while  at  the  same  time,  Philoclea  becomes 
again  the  most  beautiful  of  women. 

In  this  Arcadia  of  chivalry  it  must  not  be  thought 
that  only  cottages  and  huts  are  to  be  found  ;  some- 
times the  heroes  sleep  soundly  in  the  open  air,  but 
seldom.  In  this  country  there  are  palaces  like  those 
of  the  rich  English  lords.  The  dwelling  of  the  noble 
Kalander  is  of  this  number.  The  park  is  magnificent, 
and  quite  in  the  style  of  the  Elizabethans,  that  style 
which  is  so  minutely  described  in  Bacon's  "  Essay  on 
gardens."  It  did  not  difl^er  much  from  the  park  at 
Kenil worth,  a  place  well  known  to  Sidney  :  "  whearin, 
hard  all  along  the  castell  wall  iz  reared  a  pleazaunt 
terres  of  a  ten  foot  hy  and  a  twelve  brode,  even  under 
foot,  and  fresh  of  fyne  grass  :  as  iz  allso  the  side  thear- 
of  toward  the  gardein,  in  whiche  by  sundry  equall  dis- 
tauncez,  with  obelisks,  sphearz  and  white  bearz  [bears], 
all  of  stone,  upon  theyr  curiouz  basez,  by  goodly  shew 
wear  set  ;  too  theez,  too  fine  arbers  redolent  by  sweete 
trees  and  floourz,  at  ech  end  one,  the  garden  plot 
under  that,  with  fayr  alley  z  green   by  grass."       There 


242 


THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL. 


were  fountains  with  marble  Tritons,  with  Neptune  on 
his  throne,  and  "  Thetis  on  her  chariot  drawn  by  her 
Dollphins,"  ^  with  many  other  gods  and  goddesses. 

Kalander's  gardens  in  Arcady  were  of  the  same  sort ; 
their    adornments    were    not    very  sober,    and    many 

eccentricities  are  presented  as 
beauties  ;  thus  the  fashion  of  the 
day  would  have  it ;  Versailles 
in  comparison  is  simplicity  itself. 
Kalander  and  his  guest  go  round 
the  place,  and  "  as  soone  as  the 
descending  of  the  staires  had 
delivered  them  downe,  they 
came  into  a  place  cunningly  set 
with  trees  of  the  most  taste- 
pleasing  fruits  :  but  scarcely  they 
had  taken  that  into  considera- 
tion, but  that  they  were  suddenly 
stept  into  a  delicate  greene  ;  of 
each  side  of  the  greene  a  thicket, 
and  behind  the  thickets  againe 
new  beds  of  flowers,  which  being 
under  the  trees,  the  trees  were  to 
them  a  pavilion,  and  they  to  the 
trees  a  mosaicall  floore.  .   .   . 

"  In  the  middest  of  all    the 

place  was   a   faire  pond,  whose 

shaking    cristall    was     a    perfect    mirrour    to    all    the 

other  beauties,   so  that  it  bare  shew  of  two  gardens, 

one  in  deed,  the  other  in  shadowes.     And  in  one  of 


A   SHEPHERD   OF   ARCADY, 
FROM      THE      TITLE-PAGE 

OF  Sidney's  *'arcadia." 


Captain  Cox  his  ballads 


or  Robert  Laneham's   Lettci 


1575,"  ed.  Furnivall,  London,  1871,  8vo,  p.  49. 


PHILIP  SIDNEY  AND  PASTORAL  ROMANCE.     243 


the  thickets  was  a  fine  fountaine  made  thus  :  a  naked 
Venus  of  white  marble,  wherin  the  graver  had  used 
such  cunning  that  the  natural  blue  veins  of  the  marble 
were  framed  in  fit  places  to  set  forth  the  beautifull 
veines  of  her  body.  At  her  breast  she  had  her 
babe  ^neas,  who  seemed, 
having  begun  to  sucke,  to 
leave  that,  to  look  upon 
her  faire  eyes,  which 
smiled  at  the  babe's  folly, 
meane  while  the  breast 
running."^  The  effect  pro- 
duced must  undoubtedly 
have  been  very  pleasant, 
but  scarcely  more  *^  na- 
tural "  than  the  embellish- 
ments recommended  by 
Bacon,  who  declares  that 
hedges  and  arbours  ought 
to  be  enlivened  by  the 
songs  of  birds  ;  and  that 
to  make  such  enlivening 
sure  and  permanent,  the 
birds  should  be  secured  in 
cages.  A  good  example 
of  a  garden  in  Sidney's 
time  with  beds  of  flowers, 

arbours,  pavilions,  and  covered  galleries  is  to  be  seen 
in  his  own  portrait  by  Isaac  Oliver,  of  which  we  give 
a  reproduction.  It  must  be  noticed  that  only  the 
lower  part  of  the  long  gallery  at  the  back  is  built  ; 
'  Book  i.  p.  8  (edition  of  1633). 


A    PRINCESS    OF    ARCADY,  FROM 

THE    TITLE-PAGE   OF   SIDNEYS 

"ARCADIA." 


244  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

the  vault-shaped  upper  portion  is  painted  green,  being 
supposed  to  be  made  of  actual  leaves  and  foliage. 
Except  for  such  books  as  Sidney's  it  could  not  be  said 
of  those  gardens  that  "  they  too  were  once  in  Arcady." 
Costumes  and  furniture  are  of  the  same  style,  and 
accord  with  such  gardens  much  more  than  with 
shepherd  life.  They  are  pure  Renaissance,  half  Italian 
and  half  English.  Musidorus  disguised  as  a  shepherd, 
dresses  his  hair  in  such  a  way  as  to  look  much  more 
like  one  of  the  Renaissance  Roman  Emperors  at 
Hampton  Court  than  like  a  keeper  of  sheep  :  we  see 
him  while  receiving  a  lesson  on  the  use  of  the  "  sheep- 
hooke,"  wearing  *^  a  garland  of  laurell  mixt  with  cypres 

\  leaves  on  his  head."  ^  The  glowing  descriptions  of 
the  private  apartments  of  the  heroes  suit  modern 
palaces  better  than  Greek  cottages  ;  while  represen- 
tations of  ladies  recumbent  on  their  couches  are  obvious 
reminiscences  of  Tintoretto  or  Titian,  whose  newly 
painted  works  Sidney  had  admired  in  Italy.  Here  is 
a  description  of  the  beautiful  Philoclea,  resting  in  her 
bedroom  ;    it    shows    unmistakable   signs    of    Sidney's 

I  acquaintance  with  the  Italian  painters  :  "  She  at  that 
time  lay,  as  the  heate  of  that  country  did  well  suffer, 
upon  the  top  of  her  bed,  having  her  beauties  eclipsed 
with  nothing,  but  with  her  faire  smocke,  wrought  all 
in  flames  of  ash-colour  silk  and  gold  ;  lying  so  upon 
her  right  side,  that  the  left  thigh  down  to  the  foot, 
yielded  hir  delightfull  proportion  to  the  full  view,  which 
was  scene  by  the  helpe  of  a  rich  lampe,  which  thorow 
the  curtaines  a  little  drawne  cast  forth  a  light  upon  her, 
as  the  moone  doth  when  it  shines  into  a  thinne  wood."  ^ 
^   Book  ii.  p.  99.  ^  Book  iii.  p.  382. 


PHILIP  SIDNEY  AND  PASTORAL  ROMANCE.    245 

Sidney,  according  to  his  friend  Fulke  Greville,  Lord 
Brooke,  had  the  highest  moral  and  political   purposes, 
in  writing  his  "  Arcadia  "  :  "  In  all  these  creatures  of  .     / 
his   making,  his  interest    and  scope  was,  to  turn   the 
barren   philosophy  precepts   into    pregnant   images    of 
life  ;    and  in  them,  first  on  the  monarchs  part,  lively 
to    represent    the    growth,    state    and    declination    of 
princes,  changes    of    government   and    lawes.  .  .  Then 
again  in   the  subjects   case,  the  state  of  favour,    dis- 
favour, prosperitie,  adversity  .  .  .  and  all  other  moodes 
of  private  fortunes  or  misfortunes,  in  which  traverses, 
I    know,  his    purpose    was    to    limn    out    such   exact 
pictures   of  every  posture  in  the  minde,  that  any  man 
might  see  how  to  set    a    good  countenance   upon  all 
the  discountenances  of  adversitie/'  ^     When    Greville 
wrote  thus,  Sidney  was  dead,  and  in  his  retrospect  of 
his  friend's  life  he  was  with  perfect  good  faith  dis- 
covering  high,  not  to    say  holy  motives,  for   all   his 
actions.       Sidney's    own   explanation    suits    his    work  _ 
better;    he    was    delivering    his     '^ young    head"    of    \^ 
*^many,  many    fancies,"   and    their    main    object    was 
not  politics,    but   love.      He    described    it    as  it    was      _i 
known    and    practised    in    his    time.       Most    of   the 
heroes    in    the    "  Arcadia,"  talk   like    Surrey,    Wyatt, 
Watson,  and  all  the  "  amourists  "  of  the  century,  like 
Sidney  himself  when  he  addressed  another  than  Stella. 
The  modesty   of  their    characters   is    equal    to    their 
tenderness  ;    valiant  as   lions  before   the   enemy,  they 
tremble   like  the    leaf   before  their    mistresses ;    they 
feed  on  smiles  and  tender  glances  ;  when  they  have  to 
suffer  a  scarcity  of  this  heavenly  food  they  can  only 
^   "Life  of  Sidney,"  London,  1652,  izmo,  p.  18. 


246  THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL. 

die  :  *'  Hee  dieth  :  it  is  most  true,  hee  dieth  ;  and  he 
in  whom  you  live  dieth.  Whereof  if  though  hee 
plaine,  hee  doth  not  complaine :  for  it  is  a  harme 
but  no  wrong  which  hee  hath  received.  He  dies, 
because  in  wofull  language  all  his  senses  tell  him,  that 
such  is  your  pleasure."  Fair  Pamela  feels  deeply 
moved  when  reading  this,  and  confesses  her  harshness ; 
she  denied  him  a  look  :  "  Two  times  I  must  confess," 
says  she  to  her  sister,  not  without  a  pretty  touch  of 
humour  of  a  very  modern  sort,  "  I  was  about  to  take 
curtesie  into  mine  eyes,  but  both  times  the  former 
resolution  stopt  the  entrie  of  it  :  so,  that  hee  departed 
without  obtaining  any  further  kindenesse.  But  he  was 
no  sooner  out  of  the  doore,  but  that  I  looked  to  the 
doore  kindly  !  ''  The  poor  lover  who  did  not  see 
this  change  in  his  lady's  countenance  went  away 
fainting,  "  as  if  he  had  beene  but  the  coffin  that  carried 
himselfe  to  his  sepulchre  !  "  ^ 

Happiness  produces  the  same  effect  on  these  heroes. 
Pyrocles-Zelmane  when  present  in  his  false  quality  of 
woman  at  the  bath  of  his  mistress  in  the  Ladon  is 
on  the  point  of  swooning  with  admiration.  2  His  friend. 
Prince  Musidorus,  in  the  ecstasies  of  his  passion,  falls 
"  downe  prostrate,"  uttering  this  prayer  to  the  awful 
god  who  reigns  paramount  in  Arcady  :  "  O  thou,  celes- 
tial! or  infernall  spirit  of  Love,  or  what  other  heavenly 
or  hellish  title  thou  list  to  have  (for  effects  of  both 
I  find  in  my   selfe),  have   compassion  of  me,  and  let 

^   Book  ii.  p.  117. 

2  *'  Zelmane  would  have  put  to  her  helping  hand,  but  she  was 
taken  with  such  a  quivering,  that  she  thought  it  was  more 
wisdome  to  lean  her  selfe  to  a  tree  and  look  on  "   (book  ii.  p.  138). 


\ 


PHILIP  SIDNEY  AND  PASTORAL  ROMANCE.     247 

thy  glory  be  as  great  in  pardoning  of  them  that  be 
submitted  to  thee  as  in  conquering  them  that  were 
rebellious."  ^ 

But  Sidney  painted  also  amours  of  another  sort,  and 
one  of  the  great  attractions  of  his  book  is  the  variety  ^ 
in  the  descriptions  of  this  passion.  Never  had  the 
like  been  seen  before  in  any  English  novel,  and  as  for 
France,  it  must  be  remembered,  that  d'Urfe's  "  Astree," 
which  has  kept  its  place  in  literature  for  the  very  same 
quality,  for  its  inconstant  Hylas  and  its  faithful  ' 
Celadon,  for  its  Astree  and  its  Madonte,  was  yet  to 
be  written.  Sidney  has,  among  several  others,  created 
one  character  which,  forgotten  as  it  is  now,  would 
be  enough  to  give  a  permanent  interest  to  this  too 
much  neglected  romance  ;  it  is  the  Queen  Gynecia, 
who  is  consumed  by  a  guilty  love,  and  who  is  the 
worthy  contemporary  of  the  strongly  passionate  heroes 
of  Marlowe's  plays.  With  her,  and  for  the  first  time, 
the  dramatic  power  of  English  genius  leaves  the  stage 
and  comes  to  light  in  the  novel ;  it  was  destined  to 
pass  into  it  entirely. 

Gynecia  does  not  allow  herself  to  be  blinded  by  any 
subterfuge ;  love  has  taken  possession  of  her ;  the 
rules  of  the  world,  the  laws  of  blood,  the  precepts  of 
virtue  that  she  has  observed  all  her  life,  are  lost  sight 
of;  she  is  conscious  of  nothing  but  that  she  loves, 
and  is  ready,  like  Phasdra  of  old,  to  trample  everything 
under  foot,  to  forsake  everything,  the  domestic  hearth, 
child,  husband  :  and  it  is  very  interesting  to  see,  about 
the  time  of  Shakespeare,  this  purely  dramatic  character 
develop  itself  in  a  novel. 

^  Book  i.  p.  65. 


248  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

"  O  vertue,"  she  cries,  in  her  torment,  "  where  doest 
thou  hide  thy  selfe  ?  What  hideous  thing  is  this  which 
doth  eclipse  thee  ?  or  is  it  true  that  thou  wert  never 
but  a  vaine  name,  and  no  essentiall  thing ;  which 
hast  thus  left  thy  professed  servant,  when  she  had 
most  neede  of  thy  lovely  presence?  O  imperfect 
proportion  of  reason,  which  can  too  much  foresee, 
and  too  little  prevent :  Alas,  alas,  said  she,  if  there 
were  but  one  hope  for  all  my  paines,  or  but  one 
excuse  for  all  my  faultinesse  !  But  wretch  that  I  am, 
my  torment  is  beyond  all  succour,  and  my  evill 
deserving  doth  exceed  my  evill  fortune.  For  nothing 
else  did  my  husband  take  this  strange  resolution  to 
live  so  solitarily  :  for  nothing  else  have  the  winds 
delivered  this  strange  guest  to  my  countrey  :  for 
nothing  else  have  the  destinies'  reserved  my  life  to  this 
time,  but  that  onely  I,  most  wretched  I,  should  become 
a  plague  to  my  selfe  and  a  shame  to  woman-kind.  Yet 
if  my  desire,  how  unjust  soever  it  be,  might  take 
effect,  though  a  thousand  deaths  followed  it,  and 
every  death  were  followed  with  a  thousand  shames, 
yet  should  not  my  sepulchre  receive  me  without  some 
contentment.  But,  alas,  so  sure  I  am,  that  Zelmane 
is  such  as  can  answer  my  love  ;  yet  as  sure  I  am, 
that  this  disguising  must  needs  come  for  some  foretaken 
conceit  :  and  then,  wretched  Gynecia,  where  canst 
thou  find  any  small  ground  plot  for  hope  to  dwell 
upon.?  No,  no,  it  is  Philoclea  his  heart  is  set  upon, 
it  is  my  daughter  I  have  borne  to  supplant  me  :  but 
if  it  be  so,  the  life  1  have  given  thee,  ungratefull 
Philoclea,  I  will  sooner  with  these  hands  bereave  thee 


PHILIP  SIDNEY  AND  PASTORAL  ROMANCE.     249 

of,  than  my  birth  shall  glory  she  hath  bereaved  me  of 
my  desires."  ^ 

We  see  with  how  little  reason  the  "  x\rcadia"  is 
sometimes  placed  in  the  category  of  bedizened  pastorals, 
where  the  reader  is  reduced  to  regret  the  absence  of  a 
*^  little  wolf,"  and  whether  Gynecia,  in  spite  of  the 
oblivion  which  has  gathered  over  her,  does  not  deserve 
a  place  by  the  side  of  the  passionate  heroines  of  Mar- 
lowe and  Webster  rather  than  in  a  gallery  of  Lancret- 
like  characters. 

Sidney,  thus  possesses  the  merit,  unique  at  that  time 
with  prose  writers,  of  varying  his  subjects  by  marking  its 
nuances  and  by  describing  in  his  romance  different  kinds 
of  love.  Side  by  side  with  Gynecia's  passion,  he  has 
set  himself  to  paint  the  love  of  an  old  man  in  Basilius, 
of  a  young  man  in  Pyrocles,  of  a  young  girl  in  Pamela. 
This  last  study  led  him  to  portray  a  scene  which  was 
to  be  represented  again  by  one  of  the  great  novelists 
of  the  eighteenth  century.  Richardson  borrowed  from 
Sidney,  with  the  name  of  Pamela,  the  idea  of  the 
adventure  that  shows  her  a  prisoner  of  her  enemies, 
imploring  heaven  that  her  virtue  may  be  preserved. 
The  wicked  Cecropia  who  keeps  Sidney's  Pamela  shut 
up,  laughs  heartily  at  her  invocations  :  *'  To  thinke," 
she  says,  "that  those  powers,  if  there  be  any  such, 
above,  are  moved  either  by  the  eloquence  of  our 
prayers,  or  in  a  chafe  at  the  folly  of  our  actions, 
carries  as  much  reason,  as  if  flies  should  thinke  that  men 
take  great  care  which  of  them  hums   sweetest,    and 

^  Book  ii.  p.  95.  The  daughter's  speeches  though  she  believes 
Zelmane  to  be  a  woman  and  cannot  understand  her  own 
feelings  are  scarcely  less  intemperate  (book  ii.  p.  112). 

15 


250  THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL. 

which  of  them  flies  nimblest."  Pamela,  "  whose 
cheeks  were  dyed  in  the  beautifullest  graine  of  vertuous 
anger,"  replies  by  speeches  which  yield  in  nothing  as 
regards  nobility  and  dignity,  and  length  also,  to  those 
of  her  future  sister,  and  which  are  followed  as  in 
Richardson,  by  an  unexpected  deliverance.  These 
speeches  are  famous  for  yet  another  reason  ;  they  are 
said  to  have  been  recited  in  one  of  the  most  terrible 
crises  of  the  history  of  England  and  were  not  this  time 
followed  by  a  deliverance.  Charles  I.,  it  is  reported, 
had  copied  out,  and  recited  a  short  time  before  his  death, 
the  eloquent  prayers  to  God,  of  the  young  heroine  of 
Sidney's  novel.  It  seems  that  Pamela's  prayer  figured 
among  the  papers  that  he  gave  with  his  own  hand,  at 
the  last  moment,  to  the  prelate  who  was  attending  him: 
and  the  Puritans,  Milton  especially,  uttered  loud  cries, 
and  saw  in  this  reminiscence  of  the  artist-prince,  an 
insult  to  the  divine  majesty.  "  This  King,"  writes 
the  poet,  "  hath  as  it  were  unhallowed  and  unchris- 
tened  the  very  duty  of  prayer  itself,  by  borrowing  to  a 
Christian  use  prayers  offered  to  a  heathen  god.  Who 
would  have  imagined  so  little  fear  in  him  of  the  true 
all-seeing  deity,  so  little  reverence  of  the  Holy  Ghost, 
whose  office  is  to  dictate  and  present  our  Christian 
prayers,  so  little  care  of  truth  in  his  last  words,  or 
honour  to  himself  or  to  his  fi-iends,  or  sense  of  his 
afflictions  or  of  that  sad  hour  which  was  upon  him,  as 
immediately  before  his  death  to  pop  into  the  hand  of 
that  grave  bishop  who  attended  him,  for  a  special 
relique  of  his  saintly  exercises,  a  prayer  stolen  word  for 
word  from  the  mouth  of  a  heathen  woman,  praying  to 
a  heathen  god,  and  that  in  no  serious  book,  but  in  the 


PHILIP  SIDNEY  AND  PASTORAL  ROMANCE,    251 

vain  amatorious  poem  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney's  Arcadia/*  ^ 
Here  is  this  prayer  which  is  a  very  grave  and  eloquent 
one,  and  in  no  way  justifies  the  bitter  reproaches 
addressed  to  Charles  by  his  enemies  : 

''  Kneeling  down,  even  where  she  stood,  she  thus 
said  :  O  All-seeing  Light,  and  eternall  Life  of  all  things, 
to  whom  nothing  is  either  so  great,  that  it  may  resist, 
or  so  small  that  it  is  contemned  :  looke  upon  my 
misery  with  thine  eye  of  mercy,  and  let  thine  infinite 
power  vouchsafe  to  limit  out  some  proportion  of 
deliverance  unto  mee,  as  to  thee  shall  seeme  most  con- 
venient. Let  not  injurie,  O  Lord,  triumph  over  mee, 
and  let  my  faults  by  thy  hand  bee  corrected,  and  make 
not  mine  unjust  enemy  the  minister  of  thy  Justice. 
But  yet,  my  God,  if,  in  thy  wisedome,  this  be  the  aptest 
chastisement  for  my  unexcusable  folly  ;  if  this  low 
bondage  be  fittest  for  my  over-high  desires  ;  if  the 
pride  of  my  not  enough  humble  heart,  be  thus  to  be 
broken,  O  Lord,  I  yeeld  unto  thy  will,  and  joyfully 
embrace  what  sorrow  thou  wilt  have  me  suffer.  Onely 
thus  much  let  me  crave  of  thee.  .  .  let  calamity  be 
the  exercise,  but  not  the  overthrow  of  my  vertue  :  let 
their  power  prevaile,  but  not  prevaile  to  destruction  : 
let  my  greatnesse  be  their  prey  :  let  my  paine  be  the 
sweetnesse  of  their  revenge  :  let  them,  if  so  it  seem  good 
unto  thee,  vexe  me  with  more  and  more  punishment. 
But,  P  Lord,  let  never  their  wickednesse  have  such  a 
hand,  but  that   I  may  carry  a  pure  minde  in  a  pure 

^  And  in  order  that  no  doubt  may  exist,  Milton  refers  his  reader 
to  the  page  in  Sidney  and  in  Dr.  Juxon's  book  of,  "  'Etsoj/o- 
/cXa(Tn;c,"  "Prose  Works,"  London,  1806,  6  vols.,  8vo,  vol.  ii. 
p.  407. 


252  THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL. 

body.  And  pausing  a  while  :  And,  O  most  gracious 
Lord,  said  shee,  what  ever  become  of  me,  preserve 
the  vertuous  Musidorus."  ^ 

Thus  incidents,  showing  much  diversity,  but  little 
order,  follow  each  other  in  great  variety.  There  are 
touching  episodes,  ludicrous  and,  to  our  modern  ideas,, 
even  shocking  episodes,  brilliant  adventures,  fine  pas- 
toral scenes,  and  much  pleasant  description  ;  Sidney 
had  been  perfectly  frank  and  true  when  he  had 
spoken  of  *'  his  young  head  "  and  his  '^  many  many 
fancies.'*  He  allows  his  imagination  to  wander  ;  fancies 
are  swarming  in  his  mind,  and  he  is  no  more  capable  of 
restraining  or  putting  them  into  logical  order  than  a 
man  can  restrain  or  introduce  reason  into  a  dream. 
Arcadia  is  sometimes  in  England  and  sometimes  in 
Greece ;  Basilius'  cottage  sometimes  becomes  Hampton 
Court  ;  there  are  temples  and  churches  also  ;  heroes  are 
Christians,  but  they  believe  in  Mars  ;  they  act  according 
to  the  Gospel  and  also  according  to  the  oracles  ;  they 
are  before  everything  men  of  the  Renaissance.  Follow- 
ing his  vein^  Sidney,  after  innumerable  adventures, 
pastoral  and  warlike  scenes,  disappearances,  unexpected 
meetings,  scenes  of  deep  love,  of  criminal,  sweet  or 
foolish  love,  comes  at  last  to  a  sort  of  conclusion. 
King  Basilius  drinks  a  soporific  draught  ;  he  is  given  up 

"  ^  "Arcadia," book  iii.  p.  248.  In  the  "EiKwj/^a(rtXtK:^,the  portraiture 
of  his  sacred  majesty  in  his  solitude  and  sufferings,"  1648,  8vo, 
towards  the  end  of  the  book,  where  are  to  be  found  "praiers  used 
by  his  majestie  in  the  time  of  his  sufferings,  delivered  to  Dr.  Juxon, 
bishop  of  London,  immediately  before  his  death,"  the  end  of  the 
prayer  of  course  is  altered :  " .  .  .  so  that  at  the  last,  I  may  com  to 
thy  eternal  kingdom  through  the  merits  of  thy  son  our  alone 
Saviour  Jesus  Christ.  Amen." 


PHILIP  SIDNEY  AND  PASTORAL  ROMANCE.    253 

as  dead.  Queen  Gynecia  is  accused  of  being  the  author 
of  the  deed  ;  Zelmane,  who  has  been  found  out  to  be 
a  man  is  adjudged  an  accomphce  ;  both  are  about  to  be 
executed.  At  that  point,  fortunately,  the  dead  king 
springs  to  his  feet  ;  there  are  explanations,  embracings, 
and  a  general  pardon.  Good  Basilius,  who  alone  seems 
to  have  understood  nothing  of  all  that  happened,  asks 
pardon  of  his  wife  and  of  the  world  at  large  for  his 
silly  love  for  Pyrocles-Zelmane,  and  proclaims,  un- 
asked. Queen  Gynecia  the  most  virtuous  woman  that 
ever  was.  The  Queen  blushes  deeply  and  says  nothing, 
but  finding  that  the  ties  of  her  passion  are  now  broken, 
she  inwardly  pledges  herself  to  live  in  order  to  justify 
her  husband's  praise.  She  becomes  the  "  example  and 
glory  of  Greece  :  so  uncertain  are  mortall  judgements, 
the  same  person  most  infamous  and  most  famous,  and 
neither  justly." 

This  might  be  taken  as  a  sufficient  conclusion  in  so 
loose  a  tale  ;  but  in  that  case  it  would  mean  giving  up 
many  heroes  whose  fates  are  yet  in  suspense.  In  fact,  an 
"  Arcadia  "  of  this  sort  might  be  continued  till  dooms- 
day. Unless  the  hand  of  the  writer  grew  tired,  there 
is  no  reason  why  it  should  ever  end.  This  is,  in  fact, 
the  one  and  only  reason  Sidney  puts  forth  as  an  excuse 
for  taking  his  leave  ;  he  makes  no  pretence  of  having 
finished,  just  the  reverse  ;  for  when  he  has  married  his 
princes  he  concludes  thus  :  "  But  .  .  .  the  strange  stories 
of  Artaxia  and  Plexirtus,  Erona  and  Plangus,  Hellen 
and  Amphialus,  with  the  wonderfiall  chances  that 
befell  them  ;  the  shepheardish  loves  of  Menalcas  with 
Kaloduhis  daughter ;  the  poore  hopes  of  the  poor 
Philisides,"  that  is,   Sidney  himself,  "  in   the  pursuit  of 


254  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

his  affections  ;  the  strange  continuance  of  Klaius  and 
Strephons  desire ;  lastly  the  sonne  of  Pyrocles  named 
Pyrophilus,  and  Melidora  the  faire  daughter  of  Pamela 
bv  Musidorus,  who  even  at  their  birth  entred  into 
admirable  fortunes,  may  awake  some  other  spirit  to 
exercise  his  pen  in  that  wherwith  mine  is  already 
dulled."  From  generation  to  generation  the  tale 
might  as  we  see,  have  been  continued  for  ages  :  so 
numerous  were  the  wonderful  adventures  still  to  be 
told. 

The  style  of  the  book  is  scarcely  less  fanciful  than 
the  stories  it  tells.  It  is  only  now  and  again  that  the 
charming  prose  of  the  "  Apologie  for  Poetrie  "  is  to 
be  found  in  the  "  Arcadia."  Sidney  wished  to  remain 
faithful  to  his  theories,  and  he  believed  it  possible  to 
write  a  poem  in  prose. ^  Here  and  there  some  speeches, 
passionate  like  those  of  Gynecia,  or  noble  like  Pamela's 
prayer,  some  brilliant  repartee,  a  few  observations  of 
exquisite  charm  are  lasting:  beauties,  always  in  their 
place  in  all  kinds  of  writing.  Thus  we  meet  the  witty 
Sidney  of  the  "  Apologie "  in  the  description  of  a 
spaniel,  coming  out  of  a  river,  who  shakes  off  the 
water  from  his  coat  "as  great  men  doe  their  friends  ;" 
Sidney,  the  poet  and  lover,  appears  in  the  description  of 
^  Philoclea  entering  the  water  "  with  a  prettie  kind  of 
'  shrugging  .  .  .  like  the  twinkling  of  the  fairest  among 
the  fixed  stars  ; "  or  in  this  expression  in  reference  to  the 
fair  hair  of  one  of  his  heroines  :   "  her  haire — alas  too 


^  His  contemporaries  agreed  in  his  belief:  "Sir  Philip  Sidney 
writ  his  immortal  poem  '  The  Countesse  of  Pembrokes  Arcadia  '  in 
prose;  and  yet  our  rarest  poet  "  (F.  Meres  "  Paladis  Tamia,''  1598). 


^ 


PHILIP  SIDNEY  AND  PASTORAL  ROMANCE.     255 

poore  a  word,  why  should  I  not  rather  call  them  her 
beams  ! "  ^ 

But,  by  the  side  of  these  graceful  flowers,  how  many 
others  are  faded  !  What  concessions  to  contemporary 
taste  for  tinsel  and  excessive  ornament  !  Sidney  forgets 
the  rules  of  enduring  beauty,  and  with  the  excuse  that 
he  will  never  be  printed,  he  only  seeks  to  please  his  one 
reader.  To  charm  the  Countess,  his  sister,  like  most 
women  of  his  time,  it  was  necessary  to  put  his  phrases 
in  full  dress,  to  place  ruffs  on  his  periods,  and  to  make 
them  walk  according  to  the  rules  followed  in  courtly 
pageants.  When,  in  spite  of  Sidney's  earnest  desire,  his 
book  was  published  after  his  death,  people  were  enrap- 
tured with  his  ingeniously  dressed  out  phrases.  Lyly 
might  shake  with  envy  without  having  however  the  right 
to  complain,  for  Sidney  did  not  imitate  him.  Sidney 
never  liked  euphuism,  quite  the  contrary,  he  formally 
condemns  it  in  his  "  Apologie  "  :  "  Now  for  similitudes 
in  certain  printed  discourses  I  think  all  herberists,  all 
stories  of  beasts,  fowles  and  fishes,  are  rifled  up,  that 
they  may  come  in  multitudes  to  wait  upon  any  of  our 
conceits,  which  certainely  is  as  absurd  a  surfet  to  the 
eares  as  is  possible."  But  his  own  style  is  scarcely  less^ 
artificial  than  that  of  Lyly,  and  consequently,  its  rules 
are  quite  as  easy  to  discover.  i 

They  consist  firstly  in  the  antithetical  and  cadencedl 
repetition  of  the  same  words  in  the  sentences  written  j 
merely  for  effect  ;  secondly,  In  persistently  ascribing  life  ' 
and  feeling  to  inanimate  objects.  Sidney,  it  is  true,  as 
Lyly  with  his  euphuism,  happily  only  employs  this  style  ' 
on  particular  occasions,  when  he  intends  to  be  especially 
^  Pp.  138  and  51. 


256  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL, 

attractive  and  brilliant.  A  few  specimens  will  afford 
means  of  judging,  and  will  show  how  difficult  it  was  in 
Shakespeare's  time,  even  for  the  best  educated  and  most 
sensible  men,  for  the  sincerest  admirers  of  the  ancients, 
to  keep  within  the  bounds  of  good  taste  and  reason. 
They  might  appeal  to  the  Castalian  virgins  in  their 
invocations,  but  William  Rogers'  Elizabeth  was  the 
Muse  that  rose  before  their  eyes. 

Here  is  an  example  of  the  first  sort  of  embellish- 
ment :  *'  Our  Basilius  being  so  publickly  happy,  as  to 
be  a  prince,  and  so  happy  in  that  happiness,  as  to  be  a 
beloved  prince  ;  and  so  in  his  private  estate  blessed,  as 
to  have  so  excellent  a  wife,  and  so  over-excellent  chil- 
dren, hath  of  late  taken  a  course  which  yet  makes  him 
more  spoken  of  than  all  these  blessings."  In  another 
passage  Sidney  wishes  to  describe  the  perfections  of  a 
woman ;  and  "  that  which  made  her  fairness  much  the 
fairer,  was,  that  it  was  but  a  fair  ambassador  of  a  most 
fair  mind."  Musidorus  considers  it  "  a  greater  greatness 
to  give  a  kingdome  than  get  a  kingdome."  ^  Phalantus 
challenges  his  adversary  to  fight  "  either  for  the  love  of 
honour  or  honour  of  his  love."  In  many  of  these  sen- 
tences the  same  words  are  repeated  like  the  rhymes  of 
a  song,  taken  up  firom  strophe  to  strophe,  and  the 
sentence  twists  and  turns,  drawing  and  involving  the 
readers  in  its  spiral  curves,   so  that  he  arrives  at  the 

^  On  this  and  other  occasions  Sidney  combines  alliteration  with 
the  repetition  of  words.  Here  is  another  example  :  "  Is  it  to  be 
imagined  that  Gynecia,  a  woman,  though  wicked,  yet  witty,  would 
have  attempted  and  atchieved  an  enterprise  no  lesse  hazzardous 
than  horrible  without  having  some  counsellor  in  the  beginning  and 
some  comforter  in  the  performing  ?"  (book  v.  p.  466). 


PHILIP  SIDNEY  AND  PASTORAL  ROMANCE.    257 

€nd   all   bruised,   and  falls    half  stunned    on    the    full 
stop.  I 

The  other  kind  of  elegance  that  Sidney  affects  is  to 
be  found  in  very  many  authors,  and  it  is,  so  to  say,  of 
all  time  ;  poets  especially  indulge  in  it  without  measure  ; 
but  Sidney  surpasses  them  all  in  the  frequent  use  he 
makes  of  it  ;  this  peculiar  language  is  more  apparent 
and  has  still  stranger  effect  in  a  prose  writer  than  in  a 
poet.  In  his  Arcady,  the  valleys  are  consoled  for  their 
Jowness  by  the  silver  streams  which  wind  in  the  midst 
of  them ;  the  ripples  of  the  Ladon  struggle  with  one 
another  to  reach  the  place  where  Philoclea  is  bathing,  but 
those  which  surround  her  refuse  to  give  up  their  fortu- 
nate position.  A  shepherdess  embarks  :  "  Did  you  not 
marke  how  the  windes  whistled,  and  the  seas  danced  for 
joy  ;  how  the  sales  did  swell  with  pride,  and  all  because 
they  had  Urania }  "  Here  is  a  description  of  a  river  : 
"  .  .  .  The  banks  of  either  side  seeming  amies  of  the 
loving  earth,  that  faine  would  embrace  it ;  and  the  river 
a  wanton  nymph  which  hill  would  slip  from  it.  .  . 
There  was  ...  a  goodly  cypres,  who  bowing  her  faire  head 
over  the  water,  it  seemed  she  looked  into  it  and  dressed 
her  green  locks  by  that  running  river."  One  of  the 
heroines  of  the  romance  appears,  and  immediately  the 
flowers  and  the  fruits  experience  a  surprising  commo- 
tion ;  the  roses  blush  and  the  lilies  grow  pale  for  envy  ; 

^  Pp.    10,  17,   129,   267,  &c.      The   same   curious  repetition   of 
words  is  sometimes  to  be  noticed  in  Sidney's  poetry  : 

"  Nor  faile  my  faith  in  my  fayling  fate  ; 
Nor  change  in  change,  though  change  change  my  state." 

("  The  Smokes  of  melancholic.") 


258  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

the  apples  perceiving  her  breast  fall  down  from  the  trees 
out  of  vexation,  unexpected  vanity  on  the  part  of  this 
modest  fruit. ^ 

Similar  conceits  v^ere  at  that  time  the  fashion  not  only 
in  England,  but  also  in  Italy,  in  Spain,  and  in  France. 
There  might  still  be  found  in  France,  even  in  the 
seventeenth  century,  authors  who  described  in  these 
terms  the  appearance  of  flowers  in  spring  :  ''  There 
perhaps  at  the  end  of  the  combat,  a  pink  all  bleeding 
falls  from  fatigue  ;  there  a  rosebud,  elated  at  the  ill- 
success  of  her  antagonist,  blooms  with  joy  ;  there  the 
lily,  that  colossus  among  the  flowers,  that  giant  of 
curdled  cream,  vain  of  seeing  her  image  triumph  at  the 
Louvre,  raises  herself  above  her  companions,  and  looks 
at  them  with  contemptuous  arrogance."  The  same 
author,  who  is  Cyrano  de  Bergerac,  calls  ice  "  an  har- 
dened light,  a  petrified  day,  a  solid  nothing."  ^  But 
contrary  to  what  was  the  case  in  England,  this  style  was 
in  France,  even  before  Boileau  and  in  the  preceding 
century,  the  style  of  bad  authors.  In  England  it  is 
frequently  adopted  by  the  most  eminent  writers,  since 
on  many  occasions  it  is  even  that  of  Shakespeare  himself. 
Besides,  the  combinations  of  sound  obtained  by  means 
of  the    repetition   of  words,   added  to  the  turgidness 

'    Pp.   2,    137,   51. 

2  "  La,  possible  au  sortir  du  combat,  un  oeillet  tout  sanglant 
tombe  de  lassitude  ;  la  un  bouton  de  rose,  eiiflc  du  mauvais  succes 
dc  son  antagoniste,  s'epanouic  de  joie  ;  la  le  lys,  ce  colosse  entre 
les  fleurs,  ce  geant  de  lait  caille,  glorieux  de  voir  ses  images 
triompher  au  Louvre,  s'elcve  sur  ses  compagnes  et  les  regarde  de 
haut  en  bas."  Ice  is  for  Cyrano  :  "  une  lumiere  endurcie,  un  jour 
petrifie,  un  solide  neant "  ("  Lettre  pour  le  printemps";  **  Lettre 
\  M.  le  Bret"). 


PHILIP  SIDNEY  AND  PASTORAL  ROMANCE,    259 

of  the  images,  give  to  Sidney's  language  in  the  passages 
written  for  effect,  a  degree  of  pretension  and  bad  taste 
that  Cyrano  himself,  in  spite  of  his  natural  disposition, 
could  never  have  equalled.  When  both  kinds  of 
Sidney's  favourite  embellishments  are  combined  in  the 
same  sentence,  it  becomes  impossible  to  keep  serious, 
and  it  is  difficult  to  recognize  the  author  of  the 
"  Apologie."  Sidney  thus  describes  wreckage  floating 
on  the  water  after  a  sea-fight  :  ''Amidst  the  precious 
things  were  a  number  of  dead  bodies,  which  likewise 
did  not  onely  testifie  both  elements  violence,  but  that 
the  chiefe  violence  was  growne  of  humane  inhumanity  : 
for  their  bodies  were  full  of  grisly  wounds,  and  their 
blood  had,  as  it  were,  filled  the  wrinkles  of  the  sea's 
visage ;  which  it  seemed  the  see  would  not  wash  away, 
that  it  might  witnesse  it  is  not  always  his  fault,  when 
we  do  condemne  his  cruelty."  ^  There  is  indeed  in 
French  literature  a  dagger  celebrated  for  having  rougi 
le  traitre  I  but  what  is  it  in  comparison,  and  ought  it 
not  in  its  turn  to  grow  pale  with  envy  at  the  thought 
of  this  sea  that  will  not  wash  itself? 

Thus  men  wrote  in  the  time  of  Shakespeare,  guilty 
himself  of  having  made  many  a  dagger  blush  and  weep 
in  his  bloody  dramas  :  "  See  how  my  sword  weeps  for 
the  poor  king's  death !  "  says  Gloucester  in  "  Henry 
VI."  When  Brutus  stabs  Cassar  the  blood  followed  the 
dagger 

"As  rushing  out  of  doors,  to  be  resolv'd 
If  Brutus  so  unkindly  knocked  or  no." 

Such  was  the  irresistible  power  of  fashion.     Sidney  who 
^  Book  i.  p.  4. 


26o  THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL, 

in  his  "  Apologie  "  had  laughed  at  these  extravagances 
in  the  poets  and  dramatists,  could  not  himself  avoid 
them  when  he  wrote  his  romance.  When  they  concern 
themselves  with  criticism,  nearly  all,  Shakespeare, 
Sidney,  and  their  contemporaries,  are  to  be  admired  for 
their  moderation,  wisdom,  and  good  sense  ;.  but  as  soon 
as  they  take  up  the  pen  to  write  their  imaginative 
works,  intoxication  overcomes  their  brain,  a  divine 
intoxication  that  sometimes  transports  them  to  heaven, 
an  earthly  intoxication  that  sometimes  leads  them  into 
bogs  and  gutters. 

III. 

These  surprising  embellishments  were  in  no  way 
harmful,  quite  the  contrary,  to  the  success  of  the 
"  Arcadia."  From  the  first  it  was  extremely  popular 
and  widely  read ;  Sidney,  who  has  kept  his  high  repute 
as  a  knight  and  a  poet  to  our  day,  was  still  more  famous 
at  first,  and  indeed  for  a  long  time,  as  a  novelist.  He 
was  before  all  the  author  of  the  "  Arcadia."  ^  His 
influence  as  such  was  very  great,  if  not  always  very 
beneficial ;  for  his  examples,  as  often  happens,  were  more 
readily  followed  than  his  precepts.  Until  the  practical 
Defoe  worked  his  great  reform  in  style,  the  language  of 
the  novel  was  encumbered  with  images  and  unexpected 
metaphors,  or  distorted  by  a  pompous  verbosity  ; 
romance  writers    mostly  looked    at    life    and  realities 

^  Here  is  an  example  among  many  others.  Sidney's  portrait, 
now  belonging  to  Earl  Darnley,  bears  the  following  inscrip- 
tion painted  on  its  canvas  :  "  S""  Phillip  Sidney,  who  writ  the 
Arcadia"  (Tudor  Exhibition,  1890). 


^ 


PHILIP  SIDNEY  AND  PASTORAL  ROMANCE.    261 

through  painted    glass.       For  this,  Sidney  is  in  some 
degree  responsible. 

His  book  was,  so  to  speak,  a  standard  one  ;  every- 
body had  to  read  it ;  elegant  ladies  now  began  to  talk 
"  Arcadianism "  as  they  had  been  before  talking 
"  Euphuism."  Dekker,  in  1609,  advises  gallants  to  go 
to  the  play  to  furnish  their  memories  with  fine  sayings, 
in  order  to  be  able  to  discourse  with  such  refined  young 
persons  :  "  To  conclude,  hoarde  up  the  finest  play-scraps 
you  can  get,  upon  which  your  leane  wit  may  most 
savourly  feede  for  want  of  other  stufFe,  when  the 
Arcadian  and  Euphuized  gentlewomen  have  their  ton- 
gues sharpened  to  set  upon  you."  ^  When  he  has  to 
represent  *'  a  court-lady,  whose  weightiest  praise  is  a 
light  wit,  admired  by  herself,  and  one  more,"  her  lover, 
Ben  Jonson,  in  his  ''Every  man  out  of  his  humour," 
makes  her  talk  "  Arcadianism."  Her  lover,  who  is 
quite  the  man  to  appreciate  these  elegancies  of  speech, 
being  "  a  neat,  spruce,  affecting  courtier,  one  that  wears 
clothes  well  and  in  fashion,  practiseth  by  his  glass  how 
to  salute  .  .  .  can  post  himself  into  credit  with  his  mer- 
chant, only  with  the  gingle  of  his  spur  and  the  jerk  of 
his  wand,"  thus  describes  the  Arcadian  music  which 
falls  from  the  lips  of  the  lady  Saviolina  :  "  She  has  the 
most  harmonious  and  musical  strain  of  wit  that  ever 
tempted  a  true  ear  ...  oh  !  it  flows  from  her  like 
nectar,  and  she  doth  give  it  that  sweet  quick  grace  and 
exornation  in  the  composure,  that  by  this  good  air,  as 
I  am  an  honest  man,  would  I  might  never  stir,  sir,  but 
— she  does  observe  as  pure  a  phrase  and  use  as  choice 

^  *'  The   Guls    Horne-booke,"    "  Works,"   ed.   Grosart,   vol.   ii, 
p.  254. 


y" 


262  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

figures   in  her   ordinary   conference    as    any  be  in   the 
^  Arcadia/ ''  i 

The  demand  for  Sidney's  book  continued  long 
unabated.  It  was  often  reprinted  during  the  seven- 
teenth century,2  and  found  imitators,  abbreviators 
and  continuators.  Among  its  early  admirers  it  had 
that  indefatigable  reader  of  novels,  William  Shake- 
speare, who  took  from  it  several  hints,  especially 
from  the  story  of  the  "  Paphlagonian  unkind  king," 
which  he  made  use  of  in  his  "  King  Lear."  3  Books 
were  published  under  cover  of  Sidney's  name,  as 
"Sir  Philip  Sydney's  Ourania";4  others  were  given 
away  bearing  as  an  epigraph  an  adaptation  of  two  well- 
known  verses  : 

"  Nee  divinam  Sydneida  tenta 
Sed  longe  sequere  et  vestigia  semper  adora,"5 

no    insignificant    compliment,    considering    the    word 

^  Act  ii.  sc.  I,  performed  1599,  printed  1600..  See  also  in 
"Bartholomew  fair,"  performed  in  1614,  act  iv.  sc.  2,  how 
Quarlous  chooses  the  word  "  Argalus "  to  try  his  luck  in  a  love 
affair. 

2  The  British  Museum,  which  does  not  possess  a  complete 
collection,  has  editions  of  1590,  1598,  1599,  1605,  1613,  1621, 
1623,  1627,  1629,  1633,  1638,  1655,  1662,  1674. 
^  3  From  book  ii.  of  the  "Arcadia."  It  resembles  the  episode  of 
Gloucester  and  his  sons,  and  shows  the  old  King  of  Paphlagonia 
dispossessed,  become  blind  and  led  by  his  son  Leonatus.  See 
"Shakespeare's  Library,"  ed.  Collier  and  Hazlitt,  London,  1875, 
6  vol.  8vo.,  "King  Lear." 

'^  A  philosophical  and  scientific  poem  by  N.  Baxter,  dedicated 
to  the  Countess  of  Pembroke,  Lady  Mary  Wroth,  &c.,  and  pub- 
lished in  1606,  4to. 

5  "  Theophania  or  severall  modern  histories,  represented  by  way 
of  Romance  ...  by  an  English  person  of  quality,"  London, 
1655,  4to. 


l^ 


PHILIP  SIDNEY  AND  PASTORAL  ROMANCE,    263 

which  had  to  make  room  for  *'  Sydneida."  Works 
without  number  were  dedicated  to  the  Countess  of 
Pembroke,  not  only  because  she  was  what  she  was,  and 
a  poetess  of  some  renown,  but  because  she  was  the 
Mary  Sidney  of  Arcadian  fame. 

As  Sidney  had  stated  that  he  did  not  consider  his 
novel  finished  with  the  marriage  of  his  heroes,  and  the 
reconciliation  of  his  royal  couple,  continuations  were 
not  wanting  ;  writers  who  did  not  consider  their  pen 
^*  dulled"  as  he  had  declared  his  own  to  be,  volunteered 
to  add  a  further  batch  of  adventures  to  the  *'  Sidneyd." 
Thus  we  have  the  ''  English  Arcadia  alluding  his 
beginning  to  Sir  Philip  Sidnes  ending,"  by  Gervase 
Markham,  1 607  ;  a  "  Sixth  booke  to  the  Countesse  of 
Pembrokes  Arcadia,  written  by  R[ichard]  B[eling]  of 
Lincoines  Inne,"  1624;  or  again  a  "Continuation  of 
Sir  Philip  Sydney's  Arcadia  :  wherein  is  handled  the 
loves  of  Amphialus  and  Helena  .  .  .  written  by  a  — S 
young  gentlewoman,  Mrs.  A.  W./'  1651.  Dramas 
were  built  upon  incidents  in  the  *^  Arcadia " ;  Shake- 
speare we  have  seen  made  use  of  it  in  his  "  King 
Lear " ;  John  Day  wrote  after  Sidney's  tale,  ''  The 
He  of  Guls,"  1606,  "the  argument  being  a  little 
string  or  rivolet  drawne  from  the  full  streme  of  the 
right  worthy  gentleman.  Sir  Phillip  Sydneys  well 
knowne  Archadea."  ^  Some  years  later,  in  1640, 
Shirley  put  Basilius  and  his  court  again  on  the  stage 
in  his  "  Pastorall  called  the  Arcadia."  2 

^  *'  The  He  of  Guls,  as  it  hath  been  often  played  in  the  blacke 
fryars  by  the  children  of  the  revels"  (reprinted  by  Bullen, 
*'  Works  of  John  Day,"  1881,  4to.) 

2  "Works,"  ed.  Dycc,  vol.  vi.  All  the  main  incidents  of  Sidney's 


264  THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL. 

Authors  of  poems  also  took  their  plots  from  stories 
in  Sidney's  novel,  one  of  the  most  popular  among 
those  stories  was  the  adventures  of  Argalus  and 
Parthenia ;  it  was  constantly  reprinted  in  a  separate 
form,  and  was  the  subject  of  a  long  poem  by  the  well- 
known  Francis  Quarles,  the  author  of  the  '^  Emblemes." 
"  It  was,"  says  he  in  his  preface,  "  a  scion  taken  out  of 
the  orchard  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney  of  precious  memory, 
which  I  have  lately  graffed  upon  a  crab-stock  in  mine 
own.  .  .  .  This  book  differs  from  my  former  as  a 
courtier  from  a  churchman."  Not  less  did  it  differ 
from  his  later  books,  among  which  the  '' Emblemes  " 
were  to  figure  ;  but  the  pious  author  eases  his  conscience 
about  it  by  alleging  "  precedents  for  it."  It  cannot  be 
denied  that  if  Quarles'  "churchman  "  was  very  devout 
his."  courtier  "  was  very  worldly.  He  goes  far  beyond 
Sidney  in  his  descriptions  of  love,  of  physical  love 
especially,  and  uses  in  this  matter  a  freedom  of  speech 
and  a  bantering  tone  which  remmds  us  much  more  of 
the  Reine  de  Navarre  '  than  of  the  author  of  the 
"  Embiemes."  Such  as  it  is,  however,  this  poem 
remains,  so  far  as  literary  merit  goes,  one  of  the  best 
Quarles  ever  wrote.  He  scarcely  ever  reached  again 
this  terseness  and  vivacity  of  style,  and  this  entrain. 
Having  for  once  shut  himself  out  of  the  church,  and 
not  for  long,  he  wanted  it  seems  to  do  the  best  with 
his  time,'  and  if  he  was  sinning,  at  least  to  enjoy  his 
sin. 

novel  are  reproduced  by  Shirley  except  the  quarrel  with  Cecropia, 
and  as  the  romance  might  very  well  have  ended  where  Sidney  left 
it,  the  dramatist  did  not  go  further  and  did  not  use  any  of  the 
continuations.  See  also  "  Zelmane,"  by  W.  Mountfort,  1705, 
"Parthenia,  an  Arcadian  Drama,"  1764,  &c. 


ARGALUS   AND   PARTHENIA   READING   A   BOOK    IN   THEIR   GARDEN,    1656. 

[/>'  265. 


UNIVERSITY 

C'4LIF0R^^^ 


PHILIP  SIDNEY  AND  PASTORAL  ROMANCE.    267 

His  contemporaries  enjoyed  it  greatly ;  "  Argalus 
and  Parthenia  "  .went  through  an  extraordinary  number 
of  editions ;  ^  some  of  them  were  very  fine,  and  were 
even  illustrated  with  cuts.  We  give  an  example  of 
them  showing,  the  newly  married  couple  sitting  in 
their  garden  to  read  a  story : 

"  Upon  a  day  as  they  were  closely  seated, 
Her  ears  attending  whilst  his  lips  repeated 
A  story  treating  the  renown'd  adventures 
And  famous  acts  of  great  Alcidcs,  enters 
A  messenger  whose  countenance  did  bewray 
A  haste  too  serious  to  admit  delay." 

Is  there  any  necessity  for  reminding  the  reader  of 
the  cause  of  the  messenger's  haste  .^  Is  it  possible  that 
such  world-famous  adventures  can  be  now  forgotten  '^. 
The  messenger  was  sent  by  King  Basilius,  who  was 
sorely  pressed  by  his  arch-enemy  Amphialus.  The 
young  hero  rushes  to  the  rescue  of  the  Arcadian  king, 
but  he  is  piteously  slain  in  a  duel  with  Amphialus. 
Then  Parthenia  dresses  herself  as  a  knight,  and 
fights  her  husband's  conqueror.  With  more  verisimi- 
litude than  is  usually  the  case,  she  too  is  piteously 
slain.     And  this  is  the  en4  of  Argalus  and  Parthenia. 

But  there  was  still  more  than  this,  and  like  Lyly, 
Sidney  had  direct  imitators  who  copied  him  in  prose, 
and  tried  to  fashion  novels  after  his  model.  All  the 
peculiarities  of  his  style  and  of  his  way,  or  rather  want, 

^  It  was  published  in  1622.  The  British  Museum  possesses 
editions  of  the  years  1629,  1632,  1647,  165 1,  1656,  1677,  1684, 
1687,  1700,  1708,  1726.  Grosart  (Ouarles'  "  Complete  Works," 
1876)  mentions  one  more  of  the  year  1630. 

16 


268  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

of  composition,  are  to   be  found  minutely  reproduced 
in  :  "  The  countesse  of  Mountgomeries  Urania ;  written 
by  the  Rt.  Hon.  the  Lady  Mary  Wroath,  daughter  of 
the  Rt.  noble  Robert  earle  of  Leicester,  and  neece  to 
the  ever  famous  and  renowned  S''  Phillips  Sidney  Kt. 
and    to   y^  most   excelent    Lady    Mary    Countesse    of 
Pembroke  late  deceased."  ^     This  pedigree-shaped  title 
is  enough  in  itself  to  show  what  we  may  expect  from 
the  performance.      It  is  a  complete  and  pious  imitation 
of  Sidney's  manner,  especially  of  his  defects,  for  they 
were    more    easily    attained.     Thus    we    have    those 
repetitions  of  the  same  words  which  were  so  pleasant 
to   Sidney's   ear,    and  Lady   Mary  Wroth  has  a  feli- 
city  of   her  own  in  twisting  the  idea  into  the  words, 
screw-wise,  with  a  perfection  her  model   had  scarcely 
ever  attained :  **  All  for  others  grieved ;  pittie  extended 
so,  as  all  were  carefull,  but  of  themselves  most  carelesse  : 
yet    their  mutual   care  made  them  all  cared  for."     A 
very  true  and  logical  observation.     Lady  Mary  is  also 
fond  of  giving  sense  and  feeling  to  inanimate  objects, 
and  scarcely,  again,  can  Sidney,  with  his  sea  that  will 
not  wash,  or  Cyrano  with  his  proud  giant  of  curdled 
milk,    suffer    comparison   with    this    description  of    a 
burning  tower  into  which  a  woman  throws  the  head 
of  her  enemy  :  "  For  her  welcome  [Dorileus]  presented 
her  with  the  head  of  her  enemy,  which  he  then  cut  off 
and  gave  unto  her,  who  like  Tomeris  of  Sithia,  held  it 
by   the  haire,  but  gave  it  quickly  another  conclusion, 
for  she  threw  it  into  the  midst  of  the  flaming  tower, 
which  then,  as  being  in  it  selfe  enemy  to  good,  because 
wasting  good,  yet  hotly  desiring  to  embrace  as  much 
^  London,  1621,  fol.  (a  very  curious  engraved  title). 


PHILIP  SIDNEY  AND  PASTORAL  ROMANCE.    269 

ill,  and  so  headlongly  and  hastily  fell  on  it,  either  to 
grace  it  with  the  quickest  and  hottest  kisses,  or  to 
conceale  such  a  villanous  and  treacherous  head  from 
more  and  just  punishments."  ^ 

As  to  the  story,  it  is,  like  the  "  Arcadia,"  a  tale  of 
shepherds  who  are  princes,  and  of  shepherdesses  with 
royal  blood  in  their  veins  ;  there  are  eclogues,  dialogues, 
and  if  not  much  poetry  at  least  much  verse.  The 
events  take  place  in  Greece  and  in  the  Greek  islands ; 
people  go  to  the  temple  of  Diana  and  to  the  temple  of 
Venus.  In  the  last-named  place  they  get  m.arried. 
These  worshippers  of  the  deities  of  old  are  dressed 
as  follows.  Here  is  the  description  of  a  man's 
costume  :  "  Then  changed  he  his  armour  taking  one 
of  azure  colour,  his  plume  crimson,  and  one  fall  of 
blew  in  it  ;  the  furniture  to  his  horse  being  of  those 
colours,  and  his  device  onely  a  cipher,  which  was  made 
of  all  the  letters  of  his  misstrisses  name,  delicately  com- 
posed within  the  compasse  of  one."  Here  is  now  a 
description  of  the  costume  women  wore  in  Lady  Mary's 
Greek  land  :  "  She  was  partly  in  greene  too  ;  as  her 
upper  garment,  white  buskins  she  had,  the  short  sleeves 
which  she  wore  upon  her  armes  and  came  in  sight 
from  her  shoulders  were  also  white,  and  of  a  glistering 
stuffe,  a  little  ruffe  she  had  about  her  neck,  from  which 
came  stripps  which  were  fastned  to  the  edges  of  her 
gowne,  cut  downe  equally  for  length  and  breadth  to 
make  it  square  ;  the  strips  were  of  lace,  so  as  the  skinne 
came  steallinglie  through,  as  lif  desirous  but  afraide  to 
bee  seane,  knowing  that  little  joy  would  moove  desire 
to  have  more."     This  clever  young  person  had  been 

^  Pp.  39  and  519. 


270  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

"  sworn  a  nymph,"  which  prevented  her  getting 
married  for  some  years.  Waiting  for  that  auspicious 
date  a  Jover  was  offering  his  addresses  to  her,  and  as 
Lady  W roth's  Arcadia  is  an  Arcadia  with  a  peerage, 
we  are  informed  that  this  sworn  nymph's  lover  was 
"  the  third  sonne  of  an  earle."  ^ 

No  less  a  man  than  Ben  Jonson  proclaimed  himself 
an  admirer  of  Lady  Mary  ;  he  dedicated  one  of  his 
masterpieces,  "the  Alchemist,"  to  "the  lady  most 
deserving  her  name  and  blood,  Lady  Mary  Wroth," 
and  in  his  "Epigrams  "  he  addressed  her  as  follows,  his 
only  but  sufficient  excuse  being  that  the  "Urania  "  was 
not  yet  written  : 

"  Madam,  had  all  antiquity  been  lost, 
All  history  seal'd  up  and  fables  crost. 
That  we  had  left  us,  nor  by  time  nor  place, 
Least  mention  of  a  Nymph,  a  Muse,  a  Grace, 
But  even  their  names  were  to  be  made  anew 
Who  could  not  create  them  all  from  you  ?  "  ^ 

The  eighteenth  century  began,  and  Sidney's  romance 
was  not  yet  forgotten  ;  his  book  was  still  alive,  if 
one  may  say  so,  when  the  novel  assumed  its  definite 
shape,  style  and  compass  with  Defoe,  Richardson  and 
Fielding.  Addison  notices  its  presence  in  the  fair 
Leonora's  library,  among  "  the  some  few  which  the 
lady  had    bought    for    her  own  use."  3     It   continued 

^  Pp.  295,  298. 

^  In  Jonson's  "  Masque  of  Blackness,"  1605,  Lady  Mary  Wroth 
played  the  part  of  Baryte,  and  Lady  Rich,  Sidney's  Stella  of  many 
years  before,  personated  Ocyte. 

3  "  Spectator,"  April  12,  171 1. 


PHILIP  SIDNEY  AND  PASTORAL  ROMANCE.    271 

then  to  be  fashionable,  and  a  subject  of  conversation. 
No  wonder,  therefore,  that  between  the  date  of 
''Robinson  Crusoe"  and  the  date  of  "Pamela" 
two  more  editions  of  the  "  Arcadia "  were  given  to 
the  public.  One  of  them  contained  engravings 
afrer  drawings  by  L.  Cheron.^  The  other  was 
*'  moderniz'd "  and  was  published  by  subscription 
under  the  patronage  of  the  Princess  of  Wales. 2 
Sidney's  novel  continued  to  act  on  men's  minds,  and 
many  proofs  of  its  influence  on  eighteenth-century 
literature  might  be  pointed  out.  That  Sidney  was 
Richardson's  first  teacher  in  the  art  of  the  novel  is 
well  known;  that  Cowper  read  the  "Arcadia"  with 
delight  is  well  known  too,  and  he  confers  no  mean 
praise  on   our  author  when  he  speaks  of 

"  those  golden  times 
And  those  arcadian  scenes  that  Marc  sings 
And  Sidney,  warbler  of  poetic  prose."  3 

Examples  of  Sidney's  style  are  also  to  be  found  in 
several  authors  of  that  time.    Consciously  or  not,  Young 

^  "  The  Works  of  the  honourable  S'  Philip  Sidney,"  London, 
1725,  3  vols.  8vo. 

2"  Sir  Philip  Sidney's  Arcadia,"  modernized  by  Mrs.  [D.]  Stanley, 
London,  1725,  fol.  It  is  a  very  fine  volume  with  wide  margins. 
One  of  the  "improvements"  due  to  Mrs.  Stanley,  is  the  suppression 
of  all  the  verses.  She  did  so,  she  says,  at  the  invitation  of  her 
subscribers.  The  list  of  them  which  prefaces  the  book  contains 
many  Leonoras,  who  even  at  this  late  period  desired  to  have  a  copy 
of  the  "  Arcadia  "  for  "their  own  use."  In  our  century  an  abbre- 
viated edition  of  the  same  work  was  published  by  Mr.  Hain 
Friswell,  London,  1867,  8vo. 

3  "The  Task,  bk.  iii.  1.  514. 


2  7  2  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

sometimes  adopts  all    the  peculiarities  of  Sidney ;    for 
example,  when  he  writes  : 

"  Sweet  harmonist  !  and  beautiful  as  sweet ! 
And  young  as  beautiful  !  and  soft  as  young  ! 
And  gay  as  soft  !  and  innocent  as  gay  ! 
And  happy  (if  aught  happy  here)  as  good  ! 
For  fortune  fond  had  built  her  nest  on  high."  ^ 

Sidney's  popularity  did  not,  of  course,  last  so  long 
without  encountering  some  opposition.  For  Milton, 
and  no  wonder,  the  "  Arcadia"  was  nothing  but  "  a 
vain  amatorious  poem,"  though  he  is  fair  enough  to 
add  that  it  is  *^  in  that  kind,  full  of  worth  and  wit."  2 
Horace  Walpole  was  very  hard  upon  our  novelist  : 
"  We  have  a  tedious,  lamentable,  pedantic  pastoral 
romance,"  says  he,  in  his  "  Royal  and  Noble  Authors,'' 
"  which  the  patience  of  a  young  virgin  in  love  cannot 
now  wade  through."  3  It  is  sad  to  think  that  the  once 
famous  "  Castle  of  Otranto,"  though  twenty  times 
shorter,  requires  now  no  smaller  dose  of  patience. 

None  the  less,  the  "  Arcadia  "  was  popular  in  the 
last  century,  and,  at  the  same  time  as  it  attracted  the 
attention  of  fair  Leonoras,  it  also  interested  and  de- 
lighted a  much  commoner  sort  of  readers.  It  was 
several  times  printed  in  an  abbreviated  form,  and  circu- 
lated, with  engravings,  as  a  chap-book.  Sometimes 
the  whole  of  the  "  Arcadia "  was  compressed  into  a 
small  volume,  sometimes  only  an  episode  was  given  to 
the  public.     The  story  of  Argalus  and  Parthenia  was 

•  ^  Night  iii.  "  Narcissa." 

2  "'EiKovofcXaffn^c,"  "Prose  Works,"  1806,  vol.  ii.  p.  408. 

3  Ed.  of  1806,  5  vols.,  8vo,  "Life  of  Fulke  Greville,"  vol.  ii. 
p.  231. 


PHILIP  SIDNEY  AND  PASTORAL  ROMANCE.    273 

especially  popular.  ^     The  engravings,  it  is  needless  to 
say,  were  very  coarse  ;  and  if  Sidney  had  taken  little 


"  See  the  fond  youth  !  he  burns,  he  loves,  he  dies, 
He  wishes  as  he  pines  and  feeds  his  famish'd  eyes." 

^  "The  unfortunate  lovers  :  the  history  of  Argalus  and  Par- 
thenia,"  London,  izmo.  The  date,  1700  (?),  given  for  this  edition 
in  the  British  Museum  catalogue,  is  obviously  too  early,  as  the 
publisher  advertises  at  the  beginning  of  this  volume  "Robinson 
Crusoe,"  "Jonathan  Wild,"  &c.  There  were  (not  to  mention 
earlier  versions  of  "Argalus,"  e.g.^  one  of  1691)  other  editions  of 
(about)  1710,  171 5,  1750,  1770,  1780,  1788,  &c.  These  little 
books  had  sometimes  very  long  descriptive  titles,  such  as  those 
Defoe  has  made  us  familiar  with  :  "  The  famous  history  of  heroic k 
acts  of  the  honour  of  chivalry,  being  an  abstract  of  Pembrokes* 
'  Arcadia,'  with  many  strange  and  wonderful  adventures,  the  whole 
being  a  compleat  series  interwoven  with  the  heroick  actions  of 
many  valiant  men,  as  kings,  princes,  and  knights,  of  undoubted 
fame,  whose  matchless  deeds,  ..."  &c.,  &c.  London,  1701, 
i2mo,  "Bound,  is." 


? 


2  74  TIJE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

trouble  to  be  historically  or  geographically  accurate,  the 
wood-block  makers  took  even  less,  and  they  offer  to 
our  eyes  an  extraordinary  medley  of  fifteenth-century 
knights,  Roman  soldiers,  gentlemen  in  flowing  wigs  and 
court  swords,  all  of  them  supposed  to  have  at  one  time 
adorned  with  their  presence  the  groves  of  Arcady.  A 
few  specimens  of  these  engravers'  art  are  here  given  ; 
no  doubt  the  reader  will  be  pleased  to  know  what  the 
famous  Argalus  and  Parthenia  were  supposed  to  have 
been  like,  how  the  bathing  of  Philoclea  in  the  Ladon 
was  represented,  and  the  sorts  of  fetes  and  courtly 
dances  that  enlivened  the  marriage  of  that  princess. 
More  striking  even  than  these  tributes  to  Sidney's 
merits  as  a  novelist  is  the  treatment  awarded  him  in 
France.  The  famous  Du  Bartas  in  his  second  "Week  " 
names  Sidney  as  one  of  the  "  three  firm  pillars  of  the 
English  Speech."  This  speech,  according  to  the  French 
poet,  is  mainly  supported  by  Thomas  More  and  Bacon, 

"Et  le  milor  Cydnc  qui  cygne  doux-chantant 
Va  les  flots  orgueilleux  dc  Tamisc  flatant ; 
Ce  fleuve  gros  d'  honncur  cmporte  sa  faconde 
Dans  le  sein  de  Thetis  et  Thetis  par  le  monde.'"  ^ 

Besides  this,   Sidney's  romance    received  in  France  an 

'  Second  day  of  the  second  Week,  "  Oeuvres,"  Paris,  1611,  fol., 
p.  211.     After  Sidney,  Du  Bartas  thus  addresses  the  Queen  : 

*'  Claire  perle  du  nort,  guerriere  domte-Mars, 
Continue  a  cherir  les  muses  et  les  arts, 
Et  si  jamais  ces  vers  peuvent,  d'une  aile  agile, 
Franchissant  1' ocean  voler  jusqu'  a  ton  isle, 
Et  tomber,  fortunez,  entre  ces  blanches  mains 
Qui  sous  un  juste  frein  regissent  tant  d'humains, 
Voy  les  d'un  ceil  bcnin  et,  favorable,  pense 
Qu'  il  faut,  pour  te  loner,  avoir  ton  eloquence." 


PHILIP  SIDNEY  AND  PASTORAL  ROMANCE,    275 

homage  very  rare  at  that  epoch  :  it  was  translated. 
A  Frenchman  possessing  a  knowledge  of  the  English 
language  was  then  an  extraordinary  phenomenon. 
As  late  as  the  year  1665,  no  less  a  paper  than  the 
*^  Journal  des  Scavans "  printed  a  statement  to  the 
following  effect  :  "  The  Royal  Society  of  London 
publishes  constantly  a  number  of  excellent  works. 
But     whereas     most     of    them    are    written    in    the 


HOW    THE    TWO     PRIN-CESSES     PAMELA    AND    HER    SISTER    PHILOCLEA 
WENT  TO   BATH   THEMSELVES   .    .    .   AND   WHAT   AFTER   HAPNED." 


English    language, 
to  review  them  in 


we  have  been  unable  till  now 
our  pages.  But  we  have  at  last 
found  an  English  interpreter  through  whose  offices 
it  will  be  henceforth  possible  for  us  to  enrich  our 
publication  with  the  best  things  appearing  in  England." 
As  for  Sidney,  not  only  was  he  translated,  but  what  is 
not  less  strange,  the  fact  provoked  in  France  one  of  the 
most  violent  literary  quarrels  of  the  time.  Two  trans- 
lations of  the  "  Arcadia,"  now  entirely  forgotten,  were 


2  7  6  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

published  simultaneously,  both  in  three  volumes,  both 
adorned  with  engravings.  ^  As  soon  as  a  volume 
appeared,  each  of  the  translators  profited  by  the  occa- 
sion to  write  a  new  preface,  and  to  repeat  that  his  rival 
was  a  mere  plagiarist  and  did  not  know  a  word  of 
English.  The  other  replied  offering  to  prove  such  a 
rare  knowledge  ;  had  it  been  a  question  of  Chinese  or 
of  Hindustani  they  could  not  have  boasted  more  noisily 
of  their  unique  acquaintance  with  so  mysterious  an 
idiom.  Each  appealed  to  his  patroness,  who  was,  in 
either  case,  no  ordinary  woman  :  the  one  had  dedicated 
his  work  to  Diane  de  Chateaumorand  (D'Urfe's  Diane), 
who  had  indeed  the  right  to  judge  of  Arcadias  ;  the 
other  invoked  the  authority  of  the  Queen-mother, 
Marie  de  Medicis,  by  whose  express  command  he  had 
carried  on  his  work. 


^  "L'Arcadie  de  la  Comtesse  de  Pembrok,  mise  en  nostre  langue," 
by  J.  Baudoin  ;  Paris,  1624,  three  vol.  8vo.  It  contains  fancy 
portraits  of  Sidney  and  of  his  sister.  The  second  translation  ap- 
peared at  the  bookseller's,  Robert  Fouet,  in  1625,  in  the  same  size  ;. 
it  is  ornamented  with  pretty  engravings.  Of  its  three  parts  the 
first  was  the  work  of  "  un  brave  gentilhomme,"  and  the  two  others 
of  Mdlle.  Genevieve  Chappelain.  It  is  needless  to  observe  that 
the  great  success  of  D'Urfe's  "Astree"  had  much  to  do  with  this 
zeal  for  translating  Sidney's  pastoral  novel. 

Baudoin,  who  died  in  1650,  was  the  translator  of  various  other 
foreign  works,  among  which  part  of  the  works  of  Bacon.  Sir 
Kenelm  Digby,  whose  fondness  for  romances  was  great,  had  in  his 
library  a  copy  of  the  "  Arcadia  "  in  French  ;  this  was  Baudoin's 
translation,  and  it  is  one  of  the  items  of  the  catalogue  drawn  in 
view  of  the  sale  of  his  library  ("  Bibliotheca  Digbeiana,"  London,. 
1680,  4to).  There  was,  a  little  later,  a  translation  in  German  :  "Arca- 
dia .  .  .  inunser  Hochteutsche  Sprach.  .  .  ubersetzt,"  by  Theocritus- 
von  Hirschberg  [z>.,  Martin  Opitz],  Francfort,  1629,  4to. 


PHILIP  SIDNEY  AND  PASTORAL  ROMANCE.    277 

Baudoln,  who  had  been  the  first  to  turn  the 
*' Arcadia"  into  French,  published  it  In  1624,  pre- 
fixing to  it  this  remark,  flattering  to  Sidney's  memory, 
but  which  shows  how  very  little  his  language  was 
known  in  France  :  "  Merely  the  desire  of  understand- 
ing so  rare  a  book  caused  me  to  go  to  England, 
where  I  remained  for  two  years  in  order  to  gain  a 
knowledge  of  it." 


THE    GLORIOUS    ENTERTAINMENTS   THAT   GRACED 
THE   HAPPY    NUPTIALS." 

Two  years  !  immediately  retorts  the  publisher  of 
the  other  translation  ;  we  can  do  better  than  that  : 
the  author  of  the  work  that  we  publish  is  Mademoiselle 
Genevieve  Chappelain,  and  what  guarantees  does  she  not 
offer  !  '^  She  has  the  honour  to  have  lived  more  than 
seven  years  at  the  court  of  the  King  of  Great  Britain, 
in  the  suite  of  the  Countess  of  Salisbury,  who  esteemed 
her  as  no  ordinary  young  girl,  but  as  a  very  well-bred 
demoiselle  who  had  been  presented  to  her  with  good 
credentials,  and  who  was  descended  fi-om  a  race  that  has 


2  78  THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL. 

given  us  great  men  :  verily,  and  women,  too,  that  the 
muses  have  deigned  to  favour."  This  is  a  little  like  the 
argument  of  Scudery,  boasting,  ten  years  later,  of  his 
noble  birth  in  order  to  prove  to  poor  Pierre  Corneille 
that  he  is  the  better  poet  of  the  two,  and  that  the 
"  Cid  "  is  worth  nothing. 

But  something  better  still  follows,  and  here  the 
worthy  publisher  somewhat  betrays  himself  :  "If  she 
has  not  been  able  to  learn  the  language  of  the 
country  in  which  she  has  lived  for  more  than  seven 
years,  and  nearly  always  with  great  ladies  :  how,  I  beg 
of  you,  could  those  who  have  only  lived  there  two 
years,  and  among  the  common  people,  know  the 
language }  I  do  not  wish  to  offend  any  one  by  this 
notice,  which  I  thought  it  necessary  to  make  only  to 
defend  a  young  lady  who  is  my  near  relation!^ 

Baudoin  maintains  his  statement,  and  defies  his  rivals 
to  translate  Sidney's  verse,  and  he  enumerates  the  pre- 
cautions he  himself  has  taken,  precautions  which 
certainly  ought  to  satisfy  the  reader  as  regards  his 
accuracy.  Not  only  did  he  live  for  two  years  in  Eng- 
land, but,  he  says,  "  I  secured  the  assistance  of  a  French 
gentleman  of  merit  and  learning,  who  has  been  good 
enough  to  explain  to  me  the  whole  of  the  first  book. 
I  have  acted  in  such  a  way  as  to  procure  two  different 
versions  of  it  in  order  to  produce  one  good  one."  And 
he  has  done  even  something  more  :  "  I  have  always  had 
near  me  one  of  my  friends  to  whom  this  tongue  was  as 
familiar  as  our  own  ;  he  has  taken  the  trouble  to  eluci- 
date for  me  any  doubts  I  may  have  had."  In  truth,  he 
could  hardly  have  surrounded  himself  wdth  more  light, 
but  then,  what  an  arduous  task  to  translate  from  English ! 


PHILIP  SIDNEY  AND  PASTORAL  ROMANCE,    279 

Baudoin's  adversaries  were  in  no  way  intimidated  by 
this  display  ;  firstly,  they  had  had  the  assistance  of 
exactly  the  same  gentleman  ;  it  appears  that  a  second 
equally  learned  was  not  to  be  found;  secondly,  Mdlle. 
Chappelain  also  showed  her  translation  to  persons  who 
knew  both  languages,  and  they  found  her  work  perfect ; 
lastly,  and  v/hat  more  can  be  required?  she  sends  a 
challenge  to  Baudoin  and  his  accomplices,  and  in- 
vites them  to  a  decisive  combat  :  "  She  is  ready  to 
show  that  she  knows  the  English  language  better  than 
they,  and  they  would  not  dare  to  appear  in  order  to 
speak  it  with  her  in  the  presence  of  persons  capable  of 
judging."  Baudoin  does  not  appear,  indeed,  to  have 
accepted  this  challenge,  but  neither  does  it  seem  to  have 
discouraged  him.  He  closes  the  preface  of  his  last 
volume  with  this  poetical  apostrophe  to  those  who  are 
envious  of  his  reputation  :  "By  the  mouth  of  good 
wits — Apollo  holds  you  in  contempt, — Troop  so  igno- 
rant and  bold  : — For  you  profane  his  beauteous  gifts, — - 
And  cause  thistles  to  spring  up — In  the  midst  of  your 
Arcady."  ^ 

What  astonishes  us  now,  when  we  follow  the  vicissi- 
tudes of  the  long-forgotten  dispute  of  these  two 
writers  is  that  so  much  passion  should  have  been 
expended  over  Sidney's  romance,  however  great  might 
be  its  merit ;  while  the  attention  of  no  one  in  France 
was  attracted  by  Shakespeare  and  the  inimitable  group 

^  "  Par  la  bouche  des  bons  esprits 
Apollon  vous  tient  a  mespris 
Troupe  ignorante  et  trop  hardie, 
Car  vous  prophanez  ses  beaux  dons 
Et  faites  naistre  des  chardons 
Au  milieu  de  vostre  Arcadie." 


2  8o  THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL. 

of  dramatists  of  his  time.  No  Baudoin,  no  Genevieve 
Chappelain  disputed  the  honour  of  translating  "  Hamlet," 
and  a  century  was  still  to  elapse  before  so  much  as 
Shakespeare's  name  should  figure  in  a  book  printed  in 
France.  I 

This  double  translation  of  the  ''  Arcadia "  did  not, 
however,  pass  unnoticed,  far  from  it ;  and  fi-om  time  to 
time  we  find  the  name  of  Sidney  reappearing  in  French 
books,  while  the  giants  of  English  literature  con- 
tinued entirely  unknown  on  the  continent.  When 
Charles  Sorel  satirized  the  long-winded  romances  of  his 
time  in  his  "  Berger  Extravagant,''  he  did  not  forget 
Sidney,  who  figures  among  the  authors  alternately 
praised  and  criticized  in  the  disputation  between  Clari- 
mond  and  Philiris.  The  criticism  is  not  very  severe, 
and  compared  with  the  treatment  inflicted  on  other 
authors,  it  would  seem  that  Sorel  wished  to  show 
courtesy  to  a  foreigner  who  had  been  invited,  so  to  say, 
as  a  visitor  to  France  by  his  translators.^     Copies  of 

^  And  then  it  was  spelt  Chaksper,  "  La  critique  du  theatre 
anglois,"  translated  from  the  English  of  Collier,  Paris,  171 5,  8vo. 
In  the  *'  Journal  des  Scavans  "  for  the  year  17 10  it  appears  under 
the  shape  "  Shakees  Pear,"  p.  no. 

2  Thus  speaks  Clarimond  in  his  harangue  against  romances  : 
"  L'Angleterre  n'a  pas  manque  d'avoir  aussi  son  Arcadie,  laquelle 
ne  nous  a  este  montree  que  depuis  peu  par  la  traduction  qui  en  a 
este  faite.  Je  ne  trouve  point  d'ordre  la  dedans  et  il  y  a  beaucoup 
de  choses  qui  ne  me  peuvent  satisfaire.  ...  II  est  vrai  que 
Sidney,  etant  mort  jeune,  a  pu  laisscr  son  ouvrage  imparfait."  In 
his  defence  of  romances,  Philiris  answers  :  "  Quant  a  I'Arcadie  de 
Sidney,  apres  avoir  passe  la  mer  pour  nous  venir  voir,  je  suis 
marry  que  Clarimond  la  re9oive  avec  un  si  mauvais  compliment. 
S'il  n'entend  rien  aux  amours  de  Strephon  et  de  Clajus,  il  faut  qu'il 
-s'en  prenne  a  luy,  non  pas  a  I'autheur  qui  a  rendu  son  livre  Tun 


PHILIP  SIDNEY  AND  PASTORAL  ROMANCE,    281 

Sidney's  original  "  Arcadia  "  crept  into  France,  and  are 
to  be  found  in  rather  unexpected  places.  Thus  a  copy 
of  the  edition  of  1605  is  to  be  seen  in  the  National 
Library  in  Paris,  with  the  $  $  of  surintendant  Fou- 
quet  on  the  cover.  The  way  in  which  the  letters  are 
interlaced  shows  that  the  book  did  not  come  from  Fou- 
quet's  own  library,  but  from  the  library  of  the  Jesuits, ^ 
to  whom  he  had  given  a  yearly  income  of  6,000  livres, 

des  plus  beaux  du  monde.  II  y  a  des  discours  d'amour  et  des 
discours  d'estat  si  excellens  et  si  delectables  que  je  ne  me  lasserois 
jamais  de  les  lire"  ("Le  Berger  extravagant,  ou,  parmy  des 
fantaisies  amoureuses,  Ton  void  les  impertinences  des  romans  et  de 
la  poesie,"  vol.  iii.,  Paris,  1628,  pp.  70  and  134).  Sorel's  work  was 
translated  into  English  :  "  The  extravagant  shepherd.  The  anti- 
romance,  or  the  history  of  the  shepherd  Lysis,"  by  John  Davies,  of 
Kidwelly;  London,  1653,  fol.  The  book  has  very  curious  plates; 
Davies  in  his  preface  is  extremely  hard  upon  Sidney,  and  heaps 
ridicule  especially  on  the  head  of  King  Basilius.  See  infra^ 
chap.  vii. 

^  Fouquet,  however,  was  very  fond  of  foreign  books ;  the  cata- 
logue (dated  1665)  of  his  library,  drawn  up  after  his  committal, 
shows  that  he  had  a  fairly  large  number  of  English  books.  He 
was  the  earliest  known  French  possessor  of  a  Shakespeare.  The 
catalogue,  it  is  true,  reveals  the  fact  that  he  preserved  it  "  in  his 
garret": 

"  Livres  in  folio  qui  se  trouvent  dans  le  grenier  : 
Comedies  de  Jazon  [z>.,  Ben  Jonson]  en  anglois, 

2  vol.,  London,  1640     ...  ...  ...  ...  3/. 

Idem,  comedies  angloises ...  ...  ...  ...  loj. 

Shakespeares  comedies  angloises  ...  ...  ...  i/. 

Fletcher  commedies  angloises       ...  ...  ...  i/." 

(MS.  9,438  fran9ais,  in  the  Bibliotheque  Nationale,  Paris.) 
The  second  in  date  of  the  French  possessors  of  copies  of  Shake- 
speare was,  strange  to  say,  no  less  a   person  than  the  patron  or 
Racine  and  Boileau,  the  Roi-Soleil  himself.     Looking  over,  some 


282  THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL. 

and  who,  in  memory  of  their  benefactor,  stamped  thus 
books  purchased  from  this  fund. 

In  France,  too,  as  well  as  in  England,  the  '*  Arcadia  " 
was  turned  into  a  play.  Antoine  Mareschal,  a  contem- 
porary of  Corneille  and  the  author  of  such  dramas  as 
"  La  genereuse  AUemande  ou  le  triomphe  de  Tamour," 
1631,  the  "  Railleur  ou  la  satyre  du  temps,"  1638 
the  *' Mauzolee,''  1642,  derived  a  tragi-comedy,  in 
five  acts,  and  in  verse  from  the  "  Arcadia."  The  piece, 
which,  if  the  author  is  to  be  believed,  made  a  great 
sensation  in  Paris,  was  called  the  '*  Cour  Bergere,"  and 
was  dedicated  to  Robert  Sidney,  Earl  of  Leicester, 
ambassador  of  England  to  France,  and  brother  to  Sir 
Philip.  It  appeared  in  1640  ;  it  was  thus  later  than 
the  "  Cid."  None  the  less,  it  exhibits  the  phenomenon 
of  several  deaths  on  the  stage  ;  but  the  ridiculous 
manner  in  which  these  deaths  are  introduced  could  only 
strengthen  Corneille  in  his  scruples.  The  wicked 
Cecropia,  standing  on  a  terrace  at  the  back  of  the 
stage,  moves  without  seeing  the  edge,  and  falls  head 
foremost  on  the  boards,  exclaiming  : 


time  ago,  at  the  Biblioth^que  Nationale,  the  original  manuscript 
slips  made  in  1684  by  the  royal  librarian,  Nicolas  Clement,  for 
his  catalogue  of  the  books  confided  to  his  care,  I  found  one  in- 
scribed :  "'Will.  Shakspeare,  poeta  Anglicus.  Opera  poetica,  con- 
tinentia  tragoedias,  comoedias  et  historiolas,  Anglice,  Londres,  Th. 
Cotes,  1632,  fol."  And  to  this,  considering  that  he  had  to  deal 
with  a  thoroughly  unknown  person,  Clement  was  careful  to  add 
a  note  that  people  might  be  informed  what  was  to  be  thought 
of  the  poet.  This  is  (so  far  as  now  known)  the  earliest  French 
allusion  to  Shakespeare  :  "  Ce  poete  anglois  a  I'imagination  asses 
belle,  il  pense  naturellement  ;  mais  ces  belles  qualitez  sont 
obscurcies  par  les  ordures  qu'il  mele  dans  ses  comedies." 


PHILIP  SIDNEY  AND  PASTORAL  ROMANCE.    283 

"Ah  !  je  tombe,  et  I'enfer  a  mon  corps  entraine  .  .  . 
Je  deteste  le  ciel  !  Ah  !  je  meurs  enragee  !  " 

In  the  following  century  Sidney  was  still  remem- 
bered in  France.  In  his  "  Memoires  pour  servir  a 
I'histoire  de  la  Republique  des  lettres,"  Niceron  men- 
tions the  "  Arcadia  "  as  "  a  romance  full  of  intelligence 
and  very  well  written  in  the  author's  language."  ^ 
Florian  knew  him  and  held  him  in  great  honour  ;  he 
names  him  with  D'Urfe,  Montemayor,  and  Cervantes, 
as  being,  as  it  were,  one  of  his  Uterary  ancestors,^  and 
the  fact  is  not  without  importance  ;  for  Florian,  con- 
tinuing, as  he  did,  Sidney's  tradition,  and  trying  in  his 
turn  to  write  poems  in  prose,  stands  as  a  link  between 
the  pastoral  writers  of  the  sixteenth  century  and  the 
author  who  was  the  last  to  compose  prose  epics  m 
our  time  :  the  author  of  "  Les  Martyrs  "  and  of  that 
American  Arcadia  called  '' Atala" — Chateaubriand. 

^  Vol.  XV.  published  in  173  i. 

^  "Essai  sur  la  pastorale,"  prefacing  "  Estelle." 


SAGITTARIUS. 


17 


AN    INTERIOR    VIFAV    OF    A    THEATRE    IN    THE    TIME   OF   SHAKESPEARE. 

THE  SWAN   THEATRE,    1 596.  [/.   286. 


ELIZABETHAN    GAIETIES.      KEMP'S   DANCE   FROM    LONDON   TO  NORWICH. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

THOMAS     NASH  ,*     THE     PICARESQUE     AND     REALISTIC 

NOVEL. 


I. 

"  A  I  AHERE  is  nothing  beside  the  goodnesse  of  God, 
X  that  preserves  health  so  much  as  honest  mirth, 
especially  mirth  used  at  dinner  and  supper, 
and  mirth  toward  bed.  .  .  .  Therefore,  considering  this 
matter,  that  mirth  is  so  necessary  a  thing  for  man, 
I  published  this  booke  ...  to  make  men  merrie. 
.  .  .  Wherefore  I  doe  advertise  every  man  in  avoiding 
pensivenesse,  or  too  much  study  or  melancholic,  to 
be  merrie  with  honesty  in  God  and  for  God,  whom  I 


288  THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL. 

humbly  beseech  to  send  us  the  mirth  of  heaven. 
Amen."  ^  Such  was  the  advice  attributed  to  a  man 
whose  opinion  should  carry  weight,  for  he  had  been 
a  "  doctor  of  physicke  "  and  had  published  with  great 
success  a  ''  Breviary  of  helth  "  which  was  a  household 
book  in  his  time. 

The  pensive  Sir  Philip  Sidney  was,  as  we  have  seen, 
of  a  very  different  turn  of  mind.  He  did  not  live 
to  read  the  above  wise  counsels,  but  he  had  had  the 
opinion  of  his  friend  Languet  on  this  subject,  and  that 
had  been  of  no  avail.  His  propensity  to  overthinking 
is  apparent  in  many  places  in  his  writings,  especially 
in  his  ^'  Arcadia,"  where  he  made  so  little  use  of  the 
comical  elements  he  had  himself  introduced  into  it. 
The  main  incident  in  his  book,  the  assignation  given 
by  Zelmane  to  both  Basilius  and  Gynecia  and  the 
"  mistakes  of  a  night  "  which  follow,  would  have  been 
from  any  other  pen,  only  too  comical.  It  is,  in  fact, 
the  character  it  bears  in  Shirley's  drama,  and  it  has 
the  same  in  the  many  modern  plays  founded  on  similar 
mistakes,  plays  which  serve  to  improve,  according  to 
Andrew  Borde's  prescription,  if  not  the  morals,  at  least 
the  health  of  the  "  Palais  Royal "  audiences  of  to-day. 
With  Sidney,  the   comic  is   a  vulgar   style ;    he  very 

^  "  The  first  and  best  part  of  Scoggins  lests  .  .  .  being  a  pre- 
servative against  melancholy,  gathered  by  Andrew  Boord,"  London, 
1626,  8vo.  Many  of  the  jests,  tricks,  and  pranks  recounted  here 
are  to  be  found  in  other  collections  of  such  anecdotes,  English  as 
well  as  foreign.  For  example,  the  coarse  story  explaining  "  how  the 
French  king  had  Scogin  into  his  house  of  office,  and  shewed  him  the 
King  of  England's  picture"  appears  in  Rabelais,  where  however 
the  two  kings  play  exactly  opposite  parts.  Andrew  Borde  died 
in  1549. 


THOMAS  NASH  AND  PICARESQUE  NOVEL.     289 

rarely  risks  any  jests,  a  portrait  of  a  cowardly  peasant, 
or  of  an  injured  husband.  ^  One  of  his  best  attempts 
in  this  style  is  a  character  in  his  masque  of  the  "  Lady 
of  May,"  the  pedant  Rombus,  who  gives  quotations 
which  are  always  wrong  and  like  Rabelais'  scholar,  who 
belongs  to  "  the  alme,  inclyte  and  celebrate  academy, 
which  is  vocitated  Lutetia,"  is  careful  to  make  use  of 
nothing  but  quasi-Latin  words.  In  order  to  relate 
how  he  has  been  unmercifully  whipped  by  shepherds 
he  declares  :  "  Yet  hath  not  the  pulchritude  of  my 
vertues  protected  me  from  the  contaminating  hands  of 
these  Plebeians ;  for  comming,  solummodo  to  have  parted 
their  sanguinolent  fray,  they  yeelded  me  no  more 
reverence,  than  if  I  had  beene  some  pecorius  asinus.''  ^ 
But  that  is  an  easy  way  to  amuse,  and,  even  at  that 
epoch,  not  very  new.  Rabelais  had  made  a  better  use 
of  it  before  Sidney,  and  after  him,  without  mention- 
ing Shakespeare,  Cyrano  de  Bergerac  furnished  more 
laughable  specimens.  No  phrase  of  Rombus  equals 
the  order  given  by  the  Pedant  to  his  son  when  sending 
him  to  Venice  to  engage  in  commerce  :  ''  Since  thou  hast 

^  One  of  the  few  passages  which  would  raise  a  laugh  even 
to-day  is  the  rapturous  speech  with  which  good  Basilius  greets  the 
morning  after  his  "  mistakes  of  a  night "  :  "  Should  fancy  of 
marriage  keep  me  from  this  paradise  ?  or  opinion  of  I  know  not 
what  promise  bind  me  from  paying  the  right  duties  to  nature  and 
affection  ?  O  who  would  have  thought  there  could  have  been  such 
difference  betwixt  women  ?  Be  jealous  no  more  O  Gynecia,  but 
yield  to  the  preheminence  of  more  excellent  gifts,"  &c.  (bk.  iv.  p. 
410).  See  also  the  ridiculous  fight  between  Clinias  and  Dametas 
pp.  276  et  ie^.;  and  a  story  told  in  verse,  bk.  iii.  p.  390.  Moliere 
built  his  "Ecole  des  maris"  upon  a  similar  plot. 

2  "Arcadia,"  ed.  of  1633,  p.  610. 


290  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL, 

never  desired  to  drink  of  the  pool  engendered  by  the 
hoof  of  the  feathered  horse, ^  and  as  the  lyric  harmony 
of  the  learned  murderer  of  Python  has  never  inflated 
thy  speech,  try  if  in  merchandise  Mercury  will  lend 
thee  his  Caduceus.  So  may  the  turbulent  ^olus  be 
as  affable  to  thee  as  to  the  peaceful  nests  of  halcyons. 
In  short,  Chariot,  thou  must  go."  Sidney  kept  entirely 
to  these  ineffectual  attempts,  and  had  no  desire  to  go 
further  in  his  examination  of  the  ridiculous  side  of 
ordinary  men. 

This  study  was  undertaken  by  several  of  his  con- 
temporaries. One  of  the  peculiarities  of  this  first 
awakening  of  the  novel  in  England,  is  that  it  was 
nearly  complete  and  produced,  if  not  standard  master- 
pieces, at  least  curious  examples  of  nearly  all  the 
different  kinds  of  novel  with  which  later  writers  have 
made  us  familiar.  We  have  seen  already  how  Lyly 
depicted  courtly  life,  and  tried  to  use  the  novel  as  a 
vehicle  for  wise  and  philosophical  advice  ;  how  Greene, 
Lodge  and  Sidney  busied  themselves  with  romantic 
tales ;  how  Greene  tried  to  describe  the  realities  of 
life  in  some  of  his  autobiographical  stories.  There 
was  something  more  to  do  in  this  line,  and  the  Eliza- 
bethan drama  offers  innumerable  examples  of  it  ;  but 
it  is  not  so  well  known  that  in  the  time  of  Shake- 
speare, there  were  in  circulation,  besides  romantic  and 

^  That  is  to  drink  of  the  fountain  of  Hippocrene,  to  write  verse. 
'*  Puis  done  que  tu  n'as  jamais  voulu  t'abreuver  aux  marais  ills  de 
I'ongle  du  cheval  emplume  et  que  la  lyrique  harmonie  du  savant 
meurtrier  de  Python  n'a  jamais  enfle  ta  parole,  essaye  si  dans  la 
marchandise  Mercurc  te  pretera  son  Caducce.  Ainsi  le  turbulent 
Eole  te  soit  aussi  affable  qu'aux  pacifiques  nids  des  alcyons.  Enfin, 
Chariot,  il  faut  partir  "  ("  Pedant  jouc,"  1654). 


THOMAS  NASH  AND  PICARESQUE  NOVEL.     291 

chivalrous  tales,  regular  realistic  novels,  the  main 
object  of  which  was  to  paint  to  the  life  ordinary  men 
and  characters.  These  are  the  least  known,  but  not 
the  least  remarkable  of  the  attempts  made  by  Shake- 
speare's contemporaries  in  the  direction  of  the  novel  as 
we  understand  it. 

Works  of  this  kind  took  for  the  most  part  the 
shape  to  which  has  been  applied  the  name  oi  picaresque. 
This  was,  like  the  pastoral,  imported  into  England 
from  abroad  :  in  the  sixteenth  century  it  shone  with 
particular  brilliance  in  Spain.  The  incessant  wars  of 
that  vast  empire  on  whose  frontiers  the  sun  never  set, 
had  favoured  the  multiplication  of  adventurers,  to-day 
great  lords,  to-morrow  beggars  ;  one  day  dangerous, 
another  day  contemptible  or  ridiculous.  "  Such 
people  there  are  living  and  flourishing  in  the  world, 
Faithless,  Hopeless,  Charityless  :  let  us  have  at  them, 
dear  friends,  with  might  and  main.  Some  there  are, 
and  very  successful  too,  mere  quacks  and  fools  :  and 
it  was  to  combat  and  expose  such  as  those,  no  doubt 
that  Laughter  was  made."  So  wrote  in  our  time 
William  Thackeray,^  who  seems  to  have  considered 
that  the  age  of  the  picaro  had  not  yet  passed  away, 
and  that  the  novelist  might  still  with  advantage  turn 
his  attention  to  him.  However  that  may  be  the  great 
time  for  the  rascal,  the  rogue,  the  knave,  for  all  those 
persons  of  no  particular  class  whom  adventures  had 
left  poor  and  by  no  means  peaceable,  for  the  picaro 
in  all  his  varieties,  was  the  sixteenth  century.  A 
whole  literature  was  devoted  to  describing  the  fortunes 
of  these  strange  persons  ;  Spain  gave  it  its  name 
^   "  Vanity  Fair,"  chap.  viii. 


292  THE  EISIGLISH  NO  VEL. 

of  picaresque  and  spread  it  abroad  but  did  not 
altogether  invent  it.  The  rogue,  who  plays  tricks 
which  deserve  a  hanging,  had  already  filled  and  en- 
livened tales  in  several  languages.  Master  Reynard,  in 
that  romance  of  the  Middle  Ages  of  which  he  is  the 
hero,  is  something  like  a  picaro.  Another  of  them 
is  Til  Eulenspiegel,  whose  adventures  related  in 
German  furnished,  in  15 15,  the  subject  of  a  very 
popular  book  ;  ^  even  Panurge  could  at  need  be  placed 
in  this  great  family.  Only,  with  Master  Reynard  we 
live  in  the  world  of  animals  and  the  romance  is 
allegorical  ;  with  Til  Eulenspiegel  we  find  no  truth, 
no  probability,  merely  tricks  for  tricks'  sake,  and  how 
coarse  they  are  !  With  Panurge,  we  are  distracted 
from  the  picaro  by  all  the  philosophic  and  fantastic 
digressions  of  an  extensive  tale  in  which  he  is  not  the 
principal  hero.  But  with  the  Spaniards,  with  Lazarillo 
de  Tormes,  Guzman   d'Alfarache  2  and   the  rest,   the 

^  Many  of  his  adventures  are  made  up  of  old  anecdotes  which 
were  current  in  Europe  during  the  Middle  Ages,  and  which  the 
success  of  Eulenspiegel  again  put  into  circulation.  The  very- 
coarse  anecdote  connected  with  the  death  of  Til  (chap,  xcii.)  is 
the  subject  of  Chaucer's  Sompnoures  tale.  The  story  in  chapter 
Ixxx.  of  the  innkeeper  who  asks  payment  for  the  smell  of  his 
dishes,  and  who  is  paid  with  a  tinkling  of  coins,  is  also  very  old, 
and  was  afterwards  made  use  of  by  Rabelais.  "Til"  was  very 
popular  in  France  and  in  England.  It  was  translated  in  both 
countries ;  in  the  latter  one,  under  the  title  :  "  Here  beginneth  a 
merye  Jest  of  a  man  that  was  called  Howleglas,"  London,  Copland, 
[1528?],  4to. 

^  "Guzman  de  Alfarache,"  by  Mateo  Aleman  appeared  in  1598 
or  1 599.  The  first  edition  of  "  Lazarillo  de  Tormes "  was  published 
a  few  years  before  the  middle  of  the  sixteenth  century.  All  efforts 
to  ascertain  its  authorship  have  proved  fruitless.     See  Alfred  Morel 


THOMAS  NASH  AND  PICARESQUE  NOVEL.     293 

picaro  holds  a  place  in  literature  which  is  peculiarly 
his  own.  Faithless,  shameless,  if  not  joyless,  the 
plaything  of  fortune,  by  turn  valet,  gentleman,  beggar, 
courtier,  thief,  we  follow  him  into  all  societies.  From 
hovel  to  palace  he  goes  first,  opens  the  doors  and 
shows  us  the  characters.  There  is  no  plot  more 
simple  or  flexible,  none  that  lends  itself  better  to  the 
study  of  manners,  of  abuses,  of  social  eccentricities. 
The  only  defect  is  that,  in  order  to  abandon  himself 
with  necessary  good  will  to  the  caprices  of  Fate,  and 
in  order  to  be  able  to  penetrate  everywhere,  the  hero 
has  necessarily  little  conscience  and  still  less  heart ; 
hence  the  barrenness  of  the  greater  part  of  the 
picaresque  romances  and  the  weak  role.,  entirely  inci- 
dental, reserved  in  these  works  for  sentiment. 

The  success  of  these  Spanish  romances  was  imme- 
diate and  lasting  throughout  Europe.  **  Lazarillo " 
and  '^  Guzman  "  were  translated  into  several  languages, 
and  were  greatly  appreciated  here  and  abroad.  *'  What  ! 
sir,"  says  the  Burgundian  lord  in  "  Francion,"  ^  ''  is 
it  thus  that  you  cruelly  deprive  me  of  the  narration 
of  your  more  amusing  adventures.?  Do  you  not  know 
that  these  commonplace  actions  are  infinitely  entertain- 
ing, and  that  we  take  delight  in  listening  even  to  those 
of  scoundrels   and    rascals    like    Guzman    d'Alfarache 


Fatio  "Lazarille  de  Tormes,"  Paris,  1886,  Introduction.  As  to 
the  antiquity  of  some  of  tlie  adventures  in  "Lazarillo,"  see 
Athenceum,  Dec.  29,  1888,  p.  883. 

^  "Histoire  comique  de  Francion,"  par  M.  de  Moulinet  (/>., 
Charles  Sorel),  Paris,  1622  (?),  8vo.  It  was  translated  into  English 
"  by  a  person  of  honour,"  probably  Robert  Loveday  :  *'  The  comical 
history  of  Francion,"  London,  1655,  fol. 


2  94  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

and  Lazarillo  de  Tormes?  "  "  Guzman  "  had  in  France 
several  illustrious  translators  ;  the  ponderous  author  of 
*'  La  Pucelle  "  and  famous  academician,  Chapelain,  was 
one  of  them  ;  another  was  Le  Sage  who,  before 
penning  this  translation,  had  revived  and  doubled  the 
popularity  of  the  picaresque  novel  in  publishing  his 
"  Gil  Bias."  I  In  Germany,  Grimmelshausen,  following 
the  same  models,  wrote  in  the  seventeenth  century 
his  "  Simplicissimus."  In  England  "  Guzman  "  was 
several  times  translated ;  "  Lazarillo  "  was  continually 
reprinted  during  two  centuries,  and  original  romances 
of  this  kind  were  published  here,  among  others,  by 
Thomas  Nash,  in  the  sixteenth,  by  Richard  Head  in  the 
seventeenth,  by  Defoe  and  Smollett,  in  the  eighteenth 
century.  The  initiative  of  Nash  and  his  group 
was  all  the  more  important  and  meritorious  because 
before  them  the  comic  element  was  greatly  wanting  in 
the  English  prose  romance  ;  amusing  stories  in  the 
manner  of  the  French  had  found  translators  sometimes, 
but  not  imitators  ;  the  authors  of  Arcadias  were  espe- 
cially concerned  in  depicting  noble  sentiments,  and  the 
gift  of  observation  possessed  by  the  English  people  ran 
the  risk  of  being  for  a  long  time  exercised  nowhere 
but  on  the  stage,  or  in  metrical  tales,  or  in  moral 
essays. 

^  "Le  Gueux  ou  la  vie  de  Guzman  d'Alfarache,  image  de  la 
vie  humaine,"  translated  by  J.  Chapelain,  Lyon,  1630.  Le  Sage  pub- 
lished his  "  Gil  Bias  "in  1 7 1  5,  and  his  translation  of  "  Guzman  "  in 
1732.  "Guzman"  was  several  times  translated  into  English, 
once  by  J.  Mabbe  :  "The  Rogue,  or  the  Life  of  Guzman  de 
Alfarache,"  London,  1623,  fol. 


THOMAS  NASH  AND  PICARESQUE  NOVEL.     295 

II. 

Thomas  Nash  made  one  of  that  group  of  young 
men,  full  of  spirit,  fire  and  imagination,  who  shone 
during  the  first  part  of  Shakespeare's  career,  who 
fancied  they  could  live  by  their  pen,  and  who  died 
prematurely  and  miserably.  Nash  was  about  thirty- 
three  years  old  when  he  died  in  1600  ;  Marlowe  was 
twenty-nine,  Peele  thirty,  Greene  thirty-two. 

Nash  was  born  at  Lowestoft  in  1567  :  ^  "  The  head 
towne  in  that  iland  is  Leystofe,  in  which,  bee  it 
knowne  to  all  men,  I  was  borne  ;  though  my  father 
sprung  from  the  Nashes  of  Herefordshire ;  "  a  family 
that  could  "vaunt  longer  petigrees  than  patrimonies.  " 
He  studied  at  Cambridge,  in  St.  John's  College,  *'  in 
which  house  once  I  tooke  up  my  inne  for  seven  yere 
together  lacking  a  quarter,  and  yet  love  it  still,  for  it 
is  and  ever  was,  the  sweetest  nurse  of  knowledge  in  all 
that  university."  2  "  Saint  Johns  in  Cambridge,"  says 
he  at  another  place,  "  at  that  time  was  an  universitie 
within  it  selfe  .  .  .  having,  as  I  have  hearde  grave  men 
of  credite  report,  more  candles  light  in  it  everie  winter 
morning  before  foure  of  the  clocke  than  the  foure  of 
clocke  bell  gave  stroakes."  3  Like  Greene  and  Sidney,  he 

^  He  was  baptized  in  November  of  that  year.  The  discovery  is 
due  to  Dr.  Grosart.  Memorial  Introduction  to  the  "Works"  of 
Nash,  vol.  i.  p.  xii. 

2  "The  Complete  Works  of  Thomas  Nashe  ...  for  the  first 
time  collected,"  ed.  Grosart,  London,  1883-4,  ^  ^'^^-  4^°  '•>  "Nashe's 
lenten  stufFe,"  1599,  vol.  v.  p.  277  ;  "Have  with  you  to  Saffron 
Walden,"  vol.  ii.  p.  256  ;  "Lenten  StufFe,"  v.  p.  241. 

3  Nash's  letter  "  to  the  Gentlemen  Students,"  prefacing  his 
friend  Greene's  "  Menaphon,"  1589. 


296  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

imbibed  early  a  passionate  taste  for  literature  ;  he  learnt 
the  classical  languages  and  foreign  ones  too,  at  least 
French  and  Italian,  and  enjoyed  much  miscellaneous 
reading  ;  old  English  literature,  Mandeville,  Chaucer, 
Gower,  Skelton,  were  not  forgotten.  Following  then  the 
usual  course,  he  seems  to  have  travelled  on  the  continent, 
to  have  visited  Italy  and  Germany, i  and  to  have  come 
home,  also  according  to  custom,  to  rush  into  literature  : 
by  which  word  was  then  habitually  understood  fame, 
poverty,  quarrels,  imprisonment,  and  an  early  death. 
Not  one  of  these  items  was  wanting  in  Nash's  career. 
A  prolific  and  easy  writer,  he  tried  his  hand  at  all 
kinds  of  work,  composing  them  rapidly  and  with 
visible  pleasure,  always  ready  to  laugh  at  the  follies  of 
others,  sometimes  at  his  own,  not  melancholy  like 
Sidney,  nor  downcast  like  Greene.  He  very  rarely 
alludes  to  his  miseries  without  a  smile,  though  he  could 
not  help  regretting  the  better  things  he  might  have 
done  if  Fortune  had  not  been  so  adverse,  "  had 
I  a  ful-sayld  gale  of  prosperity."  But  "  my  state  is  so 
tost  and  weather-beaten,  that  it  hath  nowe  no  anchor- 
holde  left  to  cleave  unto."  2  Having  said  thus  much,  he 
immediately  resumes  his  cheerful  countenance  and  in 
the  best  of  spirits  and  in  perfect  good  humour  goes  on 

^  This  has  been  doubted,  for  the  statement  was  considered 
mainly  to  rest  upon  the  dedication  of  "An  almond  for  a  parrat," 
and  Nash's  authorship  of  this  work  is  no  longer  accepted  (Grosart, 
i.  p.  4).  But  as  good  evidence,  at  least,  for  Nash's  probable  travels, 
is  derived  from  his  "  Jack  Wilton,"  in  which  more  than  one  state- 
ment comes,  to  all  appearance,  from  an  actual  eye-witness. 

2  "Lenten  Stuffe,"  "Works,"  vol.  v.  p.  204.  The  first  time  he 
appeared  in  print  was  when  he  prefaced  with  the  above-mentioned 
letter  Greene's  "Menaphon"  in  \^'^^. 


THOMAS  NASH  AND  PICARESQUE  NOVEL,     297 

describing  the  great  city  of  Yarmouth,  the  metropolis 
of  the  Red  Herring. 

With  this  turn  of  mind  and  an  inexhaustible  fund 
of  wit,  satire,  and  gaiety,  he  published  numerous 
pamphlets,  threw  himself  impetuously  into  the  Martin 
Marprelate  controversy  (in  which  another  novelist, 
Lyly,  was  also  taking  part)  ;  sustained  a  rude  warfare 
against  Gabriel  Harvey  ;  ^  wrote  a  dissertation  on 
social  manners  :  the  "  Anatomie  of  absurditie,"  1589; 
a  disquisition  with  an  autobiographical  turn,  which 
may  be  compared  with  those  Greene  has  left ;  "  Pierce 
Penilesse  his  supplication  to  the  Divell,"  1592  (it  had 
great  success/ and  was  even  translated  into  French, 
"  maimedly  translated,"  says  Nash, 2  probably  with 
great  truth)  ;  a  novel  "The  unfortunate  traveller  or  the 
life  of  Jack  Wilton,"  1594,  which  has  most  un- 
deservedly remained  until  now  the  least  known  of 
his  works;  a  drama,  "The  Isle  of  dogs,"  i597> 
which  is  lost,  and  for  which  the  author  was  sent  to 
prison  ;  a  curious  and  amusing  discourse  "  in  praise 
of  the  red  herring,"  1599  ;  and  many  other  books, 
pamphlets,  and  works  of  all  kinds.3 

^  In  his  "Quip  for  an  upstart  courtier,"  1592,  Greene  had 
spoken  irreverently  of  Harvey's  low  extraction.  Harvey  heaped 
abuse  upon  Greene,  being  rather  encouraged  than  stopped  by  the 
death  of  his  opponent.  In  the  same  year,  Nash,  with  great 
courage,  rushed  to  the  rescue  of  his  friend  and  of  his  memory  ; 
when  this  was  done  he  continued  the  war  on  his  own  account 
with  great  success,  till  the  authorities  interfered  and  stopped  both 
combatants. 

2  "  My  Piers  Penilesse  .  .  .  being  above  two  yeres  since 
maimedly  translated  into  the  French  tongue."  "Have  with  you 
to  Saffron  Walden,"  "  Works,"  vol.  iii.  p.  47. 

3  His     principal     writings     are     distributed    as    follows    in    Dr. 


298  THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL. 

Constantly  entangled  in  quarrels,  in  such  a  way  some- 
times that  the  authorities  had  to  interfere — for  example, 
in  his  war  with  Gabriel  Harvey,  when  the  destruction 
of  the  books  of  both  was  ordered — he  preserved  to  the 
last  his  good  humour  and  his  taste  for  people  and 
authors  who  knew  what  it  was  to  laugh.  Curiously 
enough,  he  combined  this  taste  with  an  intense  fond- 
ness for  pure  literature  and  for  lyrical  poetry.  Rabelais 
is  among  his  masters,  and  so  is  Aretino,  "  one  of 
the  wittiest  knaves  that  ever  God  made."  Tarleton 
the  jester  is  among  his  friends,  and  so  is  Kemp, 
the  Dogberry  of  Shakespeare's  "  Much  Ado,"  the 
Peter  of  "  Romeo  and  Juliet,"  the  famous  dancer  who 
performed  a  morris  dance  from  London  to  Norwich. 
And  at  the  same  time  he  bestows  with  unbounded 
enthusiasm  heartfelt   praises  upon  Spenser,   "  heavenly 

Grosart's  edition: — I.  "Anatomic  of  Absurditie,"  1589;  various 
Martin  Marprelate  tractates.  II.  "Pierce  Penilesse,"  1592; 
"Strange  newes,"  1593,  and  other  writings  against  Harvey. 
III.  "Have  with  you  to  Saffron  Walden,"  1596  (against  Harvey)  ; 
"The  terrors  of  the  night  or  a  discourse  of  apparitions,"  1594,  in 
which  Nash  on  many  points  anticipates  Defoe.  IV.  "  Christ's  tears 
over  Jerusalem,"!  593,  a  long  pious  discourse.  V.  "The  unfortunate 
traveller,"  1594  ;  "Lenten  Stuffe,"  1599.  VI.  "The  tragedie  of 
Dido,"  1594  (in  collaboration  with  Marlowe);  "Summers  last 
will  and  testament,"  a  play  by  Nash  alone. 

His  "  Isle  of  dogs "  is  lost,  having  been  suppressed  as  soon  as 
performed.  The  troubles  Nash  got  into  on  account  of  this  un- 
lucky play  are  thus  commemorated  by  him:  "The  straunge 
turning  of  the  He  of  Dogs  from  a  commedie  to  a  tragedie  two 
summers  past,  with  the  troublesome  stir  which  hapned  about  it  is 
a  generall  rumour  that  hath  filled  all  England,  and  such  a  heavie 
crosse  laide  upon  me  as  had  well  neere  confounded  mee " 
("  Lenten  Stuffe,"  vol.  v.  p.  199). 


THOMAS  NASH  AND  PICARESQUE  NOVEL.     299 

Spenser";  upon  "immortal"  Sidney,  whose  "i^strophel 
and  Stella"  he  himself  published  in  1591;  and  upon 
Marlowe,  as  the  author  of  the  exquisite  Hero  and 
Leander  poem,  "  Leander  and  Hero  of  whome  divine 
Mussus  sung  and  a  diviner  muse  then  him,  Kit 
Marlow."  i 

With  all  his  fondness  for  merry  authors,  Nash  can 
discern  true  poetry,  and  he  adores  it.  If  by  chance, 
in  the  midst  of  an  angry  satirical  disquisition,  the  v^ord 
poetry  comes  to  his  pen,  he  is  suddenly  transformed,  he 
smiles,  he  melts  ;  nothing  is  left  in  him  but  human 
sympathies.  "  Nor  is  poetry  an  art  where  of  there  is 
no  use  in  a  man's  whole  life  but  to  describe  dis- 
contented thoughts  and  youthfull  desires,  for  there  is 
no  study  but  it  dooth  illustrate  and  beautifie.  .  .  .  To 
them  that  demaund  what  fruites  the  poets  of  our  time 
bring  forth,  or  wherein  they  are  able  to  approve  them- 
selves necessarie  to  the  state,  thus  I  answere  :  first 
and  formost,  they  have  cleansed  our  language  from 
barbarisme,  and  made  the  vulgar  sort,  here  in  London^ 
which  is  the  fountaine  whose  rivers  flowe  round  about 
England,  to  aspire  to  a  richer  puritie  of  speach  than  is 
communicated  with  the  comminalty  of  any  nation 
under  heaven."  ^  When  a  man  like  Nash  could  write 
in  such  a  strain,  with  a  passion  for  vernacular  literature 
scarcely  equalled  at  any  time,  there  was  obviously 
groiwing  among  that  "  vulgar  sort,  here  in  London,"  a 
public  for  any  great  man  that  might  appear,  a  public 
for  William  Shakespeare   himself,  who  was  just   then 

^  "The  unfortunate  Traveller,"  vol.  v,  p.  93  ;  "Lenten  StufFe/* 
vol.  V.  p.  262. 

2  "  Pierce  Penilesse,"   "Works,"  vol.  ii.  pp.  60,  61. 


300  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

beginning  to*  reach  celebrity.  Nash  does  not  doubt 
that  it  is  possible  for  English  to  become  a  classical  lan- 
guage, however  rude  the  garb  it  first  bore.  According  to 
Nash,  Surrey  was  "  a  prince  in  content  because  a  poet 
without  peere.  Destinie  never  defames  her  selfe  but 
when  she  lets  an  excellent  poet  die  :  if  there  bee  any 
sparke  of  Adams  paradized  perfection  yet  emberd  vp 
in  the  breasts  of  mortall  men,  certainely  God  hath 
bestowed  that  his  perfectest  image  on  poets."  Differing 
from  Francis  Bacon  and  a  few  of  the  grave-  dignitaries 
of  literature,  he  has  faith  in  that  group  of  artists  in 
the  first  rank  of  whom  he  placed  heavenly  Spenser, 
who  can  well  bear  comparison  with  any  author  of 
France,  Italy,  or  Spain.  "  Neither  is  he  the  only 
swallow  of  our  summer.'*  ^ 

This  fondness  for  pure  literature,  for  musical  verse 
and  lyrical  poetry,  explains  how,  satirist  as  he  was, 
Nash  had  numerous  friends  whose  feelings  towards  him 
were  nothing  short  of  tenderness.  ''Sweet  boy," 
"  Sweet  Tom,"  are  not  usual  expressions  towards  a 
satirist  ;  they  are,  however,  applied  to  Nash  both  by 
Greene  and  by  Francis  Meres,  because  there  was  in 
Nash's  mind  something  besides  the  customary  rancour 
of  born  satirists.     "  The  man,"  said  Shakespeare, 

"  The  man  that  has  no  music  in  himself 
Nor  is  not  mov'd  with  concord  of  sweet  sounds, 
Is  fit  for  treasons,  stratagems  and  spoils; 


'  "  The  unfortunate  Traveller,  or  the  Life  of  Jack  Wilton," 
*' Works,"  vol.  V.  p.  60,  and  Prefatory  letter  to  Greene's  "Mena- 
phon." 


THOMAS  NASH  AND  PICARESQUE  NOVEL.     301 

The  motions  of  his  spirit  are  as  dull  as  night, 
And  his  affections  dark  as  Erebus  ; 
Let  no  such  man  be  trusted."^ 

A  very  diiFerent  sort  of  a  man  was  Nash  ;  his  friends 
found  that  he  could  be  "  mov'd  with  concord  of  sweet 
sounds,"  and  that  he  could  be  trusted.  As  he  sur- 
vived Sidney  at  a  time  when  a  few  years  meant  much 
for  English  literature,  he  could  form  a  far  more 
favourable  judgment  of  the  drama  than  the  well- 
known  one  in  the  "  Apologie."  The  ridiculous  per- 
formances noticed  by  Sidney  had  not  disappeared,  but 
they  were  not  the  only  ones  to  be  seen  on  the  stage  ; 
dramas  of  the  highest  order  were  being  played  ;  actors 
rendered  them  with  becoming  dignity,  and,  curiously 
enough  to  our  ideas,  Nash  adds  as  a  special  praise  that 
women  were  excluded  from  among  their  number  : 
"  Our  players  are  not  as  the  players  beyond  sea,  a  sort 
of  squirting  baudie  comedians,  that  have  whores  and 
common  curtezans  to  play  womens  parts,  and  forbeare 
no  immodest  speech  or  unchast  action  that  may  procure 
laughter  ;  but  our  sceane  is  more  stately  furnisht  than 
ever  it  was  in  the  time  of  Roscius,  our  representations 
honorable  and  full  of  gallant  resolution,  not  consisting 
like  theirs  of  a  Pantaloun,  a  whore  and  a  Zanie,  but  of 
emperours,  kings  and  princes  whose  true  tragedies, 
Sophocleo  cothurno  they  do  vaunt."  ^  In  the  next 
century,  women  were  allowed  to  replace  on  the  English 
stage  the  newly-shaven  young  fellows  who  used  to  play 
Juliet  and  Titania  ;  we  are  happy  to  say  that  so  indecent 

^  Greene's  "Groats-worth,"  "Works,"  vol.  i.  p.  143;    Mere's 
"  Paladis  Tamia  "  ;  "  Merchant  of  Venice,"  act  v.  sc.  i. 
"^  "Pierce  Penilesse,"  "  Works,"  vol.  ii.  p.  92. 

18 


302  THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL, 

a  practice  was  due  to  foreign  influence.  We  have 
Prynne's  authority  for  believing  that  the  first  women 
who  had  the  audacity  to  appear  before  a  London 
audience  were  French.  This  happened  in  1629  at  the 
Blackfi-iars  theatre.  It  is  true  that  not  long  after, 
to  make  up,  as  it  were,  for  lost  time,  plays  were 
performed  in  England  in  which  all  the  parts  were  taken 
by  women  ;  it  is  not  known  whether  on  that  occasion 
they  were  French.  ^ 

Another  very  important  characteristic  in  Nash  is  the 
high  ideal  he  has  shaped  for  himself  of  the  art  of 
writing,  not  only  in  verse,  but  in  plain  prose.  At  a 
time  when  English  prose  was  scarcely  acknowledged 
to  be  capable  of  artistic  treatment,  and  when  rules, 
regulations  and  theories  had,  as  is  generally  believed, 
very  little  hold  upon  writers,  it  is  interesting  to  notice 
that  such  an  author  as  Nash,  with  his  stirring  style  and 
unbridled  pen,  with  his  prison  and  tavern  life,  under- 
/  stood  that  words  had  a  literary  value  of  their  own. 
They  were  not  to  be  taken  at  random,  but  chosen  with 
care.  His  theory  may  on  some  points  be  disputed,  but 
it  is  certainly  interesting  to  note  that  he  had  a  theory 
at  all.  First,  he  desires  that  a  man  shall  write  in  his 
own  vein  and  not  copy  others,  especially  those  who  by 
their  vogue  and  peculiarities,  such  as  Lyly  or  Greene, 

^  '*  Histrio-mastix,"  1633,  4to,  p.  215.  Coryat  reports  on 
hearsay  (1608)  that  women  had  already  appeared  at  that  date  on 
the  English  stage ;  but  he  is  careful  to  note  that  he  had  never 
personally  witnessed  this  extraordinary  phenomenon  ;  and  he  adds 
that  he  was  greatly  astonished  to  see  in  Italy  women  perform  their 
parts  in  a  play  "  with  as  good  a  grace,  action  and  gesture  and  what- 
soever convenient  for  a  player  as  ever  I  saw  any  masculine  actor" 
("Crudities,"  London,  1.776,  vol.  ii.  p.  16). 


THOMAS  NASH  AND  PICARESQUE  NOVEL.     303 

were  easiest  of  reach  and  the  most  tempting  to  imitate. 
He  strongly  defends  himself  from  having  ever  done 
anything  of  this  sort  ;  on  the  contrary,  more  than 
once  appeals  were  made  to  him  to  give  judgment  in 
literary  matters  : 

*'  Is  my  style  like  Greenes,  or  my  j easts  like  Tarle- 
tons  ? 

"  Do  I  talke  of  any  counterfeit  birds,  or  hearbes 
or  stones?  .  .  .  This  I  will  proudly  boast  .  .  .  that  the 
vaine  which  I  have  ...  is  of  my  own  begetting  and 
cals  no  man  father  in  England  but  myselfe,  neither 
Euphues,  nor  Tarlton,  nor  Greene. 

"  Not  Tarlton  nor  Greene  but  have  beene  contented 
to  let  my  simple  judgment  overrule  them  in  some 
matters  of  wit.  Euphues  I  read  when  I  was  a  little  ape 
in  Cambridge,  and  I  then  thought  it  was  i'pse  Hie:  it 
may  be  excellent  still  for  ought  I  know,  but  I  lookt 
not  on  it  this  ten  yeare  :  but  to  imitate  it  I  abhorre."  ' 

His  vocabulary  is  very  rich  ;  he  has  always  a  variety 
of  words  at  his  disposal  and  uses  often  two  or  three  the 
better  to  impress  our  minds  with  the  idea  in  his  own. 
He  coins  at  need  new  words  or  fetches  them  from 
classical  or  foreign  languages.  He  does  not  do  this  in 
an  off-hand  way,  but  on  purpose  and  wilftilly  ;  he 
possessed  much  of  that  curious  care  for  and  delight 
in  words  which  is  one  of  the  characteristics  of  the 
men  of  the  Renaissance.  To  deal  with  words  was 
in  itself  a  pleasure  for  them  ;  they  liked  to  mould, 
to  adopt,  to  combine,  to  invent  them.  Word  paint- 
ing  delighted   them  ;    Nash    has   an  extreme  fondness 

^  "Strange  nevves  of  the  intercepting  certaine  letters,"  1592, 
"  Works,"  vol  ii.  p.  267. 


304  THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL, 

for  it,  and  satirical  and  comical  as  he  is,  he  often 
astonishes  us  by  the  poetic  gracefulness  of  his  combi- 
nations of  words.  In  this  as  in  many  other  particulars 
he  imitates,  longe  sequens,  the  master  he  seems  to  have 
admired  above  others,  Rabelais,  who,  in  the  tempestuous 
roll  of  his  diverse  waters,  sometimes  washes  up  on  to 
the  sand  pearls  fit  to  adorn  the  crown  of  any  lyrical  poet. 
Fishes  appear  in  Nash's  otherwise  unpoetical  prose  as 
*'  the  sea's  finny  freeholders  ; "  the  inhabitants  of  a  port 
town  do  not  sow  corn,  "  their  whole  harvest  is  by  sea ;" 
they  plough  "the  glassy  fieldes  of  Thetis."  He  has  an 
instinctive  hatred  for  abstract  terms  ;  he  wants  ex- 
pressive words,  words  that  shine,  that  breathe,  that 
live.  Instead  of  saying  that  Henry  III.  granted  a  char- 
ter and  certain  privileges  in  a  particular  year  of  his 
reign^  he  will  write  that  "  he  cheard  up  their  blonds 
with  two  charters  more,  and  in  Anno  1262  and  forty- 
five  of  his  courte  keeping,,  he  permitted  them  to  wall 
in  their  town&."  ^  The  pleasure  of  replacing  stale, 
common-place  expressions  by  rare,  picturesque,  live 
ones,  and  in  lieu  of  a  plain  sentence  to  give  an  allegorical 
substitute,  has  so  much  attraction  for  Nash,  that  clear- 
sighted as  he  is,  he  cannot  always  avoid  the  or- 
dinary defects  of  this  particular  style,  defects  which 
he  has  in  common  with  many  of  his  contemporaries, 
not  excluding  Shakespeare  himself,  namely,  obscurity 
and  sometimes  bad  taste. 

Another   of  Nash's  tendencies,  which  he  has  most 

decidedly  in    common    with   Rabelais,   consists   in  the 

use  of  a  number  of  expressions  in  the  same  sentence 

for    the    same    idea.     Of  course    one  carefully  chosen 

^  "Lenten  StufFe,"  vol.  v.  pp.  226,  244,  216. 


THOMAS  NASH  AND  PICARESQUE  NOVEL.     305 

word  would  be  enough  ;  such  a  man  as  Merimee,  to 
take  an  example  at  the  other  extremity  of  the  line, 
picks  out  the  one  term  he  wants,  puts  it  in  its  place  ; 
word  and  place  fit  exactly  ;  there  is  nothing  to  add  or 
desire.  Not  so  Rabelais  ;  not  so  either  his  admirer 
Nash  ;  the  newly-awakened  curiosities  of  the  Renais- 
sance were  too  young  as  yet,  too  fresh  and  strong  upon 
them,  to  be  easily  kept  down  by  rule  and  reflection. 
Literature  too  was  young  then,  and  young  things  are 
endowed  with  eyes  that  stare  and  admire  more  easily 
than  old  ones.  When  entering  their  word-shop,  writers 
of  the  sixteenth  century  were  fain  to  take  this  word, 
and  this  other  too,  and  yet  that  one  more  ;  and  when 
on  the  threshold,  about  to  go,  they  would  turn  and 
take  two  or  three  again.  There  are  pages  in  Rabelais 
and  pages  in  Nash  where  most  of  the  important  words 
are  supplemented  and  fortified  with  a  number  of  others 
placed  there  at  our  disposal  as  alternatives  or  substitutes, 
for  the  pleasure  of  our  ears  and  eyes,  in  case  we  might 
like  them  better.  Nash  has  to  express  this  very  simple 
idea  :  Look  at  Yarmouth,  what  a  fine  town  it  is  !  Well, 
it  owes  all  it  is  to  the  red  herring.  This  he  formulates 
in  the  following  manner  with  quite  a  Rabelaisian 
mixture  of  native  and  half  Latin  words  and  iterations 
for  most  terms  of  importance  :  "  Doe  but  convert, 
said  hee,  the  slenderest  twinckling  reflexe  of  your  eye- 
sight to  this  flinty  ringe  that  engirtes  it,  these  towred 
walles,  port-cullizd  gates,  and  gorgeous  architectures  that 
condecorate  and  adorne  it,  and  then  perponder  of  the 
red  herringes  priority  and  prevalence,  who  is  the  onely 
inexhaustible  mine  that  hath  raised  and  begot  all  this, 
and,  minutely,  to  riper  maturity,  fosters  and  cherisheth 

it."  I 

^  "Works,"  vol.  V.  p.  231. 


3o6  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

Some  critics  of  his  time  abused  Nash  for  the  liberties 
he  took  with  the  vocabulary,  especially  for  his  foreign 
and  compound  words.  He  was  ready  with  this  half- 
serious,  half-jocose  answer :  "  To  the  second  rancke  of 
reprehenders,  that  complain  of  my  boystrous  compound 
wordes,  and  ending  my  Italionate  coyned  verbes  all  in 
izcy'  such  as  "  tympanize ;  tirannize,"  says  he  elsewhere  ; 
**  thus  I  replie  :  That  no  winde  that  blowes  strong  but 
is  boystrous ;  no  speech  or  wordes  of  any  power  or 
force  to  confute  or  perswade,  but  must  be  swelling  and 
boystrous.  For  the  compounding  of  my  wordes, 
therein  I  imitate  rich  men,  who  having  gathered  store 
of  white  single  money  together,  convert  a  number  of 
those  small  little  scutes  into  great  peeces  of  gold,  such 
as  double  Pistoles  and  Portugues.  Our  English  tongue 
of  all  languages,  most  swarmeth  with  the  single  money 
of  monosillables,  which  are  the  onely  scandall  of  it. 
Bookes  written  in  them  and  no  other  seeme  like  shop- 
keepers* bookes,  that  containe  nothing  else  save  halfe- 
pence,  three-farthings,  and  two-pences.  Therefore  what 
did  me  I ,  but  having  a  huge  heape  of  those  worth  lesse 
shreds  of  small  English  in  my  pa  maters  purse,  to 
make  the  royaller  shew  with  them  to  men's  eye,  had 
them  to  the  compounders  immediately,  and  exchanged 
them  foure  into  one,  and  others  into  more,  according  to 
the  Greek,  French,  Spanish,  and  Italian."  ^ 

Nash  had  a  particular  literary  hatred  for  mere 
empty  bombast.  His  love  for  high-sounding  words 
with  a  meaning  was  not  greater  than  his  aversion  for 
big  sounds  without   one.      Even  his  friend   Marlowe 

^  Preface  to  "  Christ's  teares,"  edition  of  1594,  "  Works,''  vol.  iv. 
p.  6. 


THOMAS  NASH  AND  PICARESQUE  NOVEL.     307 

does  not  escape  his  censure  for  having  trespassed  in  this 
particular  beyond  the  limits  of  good  taste.  Nash 
wonders  "  how  eloquent  our  gowned  age  is  growen  of 
late,"  and  he  has  nothing  but  contempt  for  those  "vain- 
glorious tragoedians  who  contend  not  so  seriously  to 
excel  in  action,  as  to  embowell  the  clowdes  in  a 
speach  of  comparison  ;  thinking  themselves  more  than 
initiated  in  poets  immortalitie,  if  they  but  once  get 
Boreas  by  the  beard  and  the  heavenlie  bull  by  the 
deaw-lap."  i 

His  ideas  regarding  the  art  of  novel  writing  are  very 
liberal,  and  he  accepts  as  belonging  to  literature  many 
specimens  we  should  sternly  reject.  The  one  point  to 
remember,  however,  is  that  he  does  not  accept  them 
all  ;  he  draws  the  line  somewhere,  and  in  that  age  when 
the  novel  was  in  its  infancy,  there  was  merit  in 
doing  even  no  more  than  this.  He  is  very  hard  upon 
the  old  mediaeval  romances,  which  it  is  true  he  seems 
to  have  known  only  through  the  abridged  and  degene- 
rate texts  circulated  in  his  time,  for  the  amusement  of 
idle  readers.  He  readily  endorses  the  moral  views  of 
Ascham  about  them,  adding  however,  what  is  more 
interesting  for  us,  some  literary  criticism  :  "  What  els. 
I  pray  you,  doe  these  bable  booke-mungers  endevor 
but  to  repaire  the  ruinous  wals  of  Venus  court,  to 
restore  to  the  worlde  that  forgotten  legendary  licence  of 
lying,  to  imitate  a  fresh  the  fantasticall  dreames  of  those 
exiled  Abbie-lubbers  [/.^.,  the  monks]  from  whose  idle 
pens  proceeded  those  worne  out  impressions  of  the 
feigned  no  where  acts  of  Arthur  of  the  rounde  table,. 
Arthur  of  litle  Brittaine,  Sir  Tristram,  Hewon  of  Bur- 
^  Prefatory  letter  to  Greene's  "  Menaphon." 


3o8  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL, 

deaux,  the  Squire  of  low  degree,  the  four  sons  of 
Anion,  with  infinite  others.  .  .  .  Who  is  it  that  reding 
Bevis  of  Hampton,  can  forbeare  laughing,  if  he  marke 
what  scambling  shyft  he  makes  to  end  his  verses  a  Rke? 
I  will  propound  three  or  foure  payre  by  the  way  for  the 
readers  recreation  : 

The  porter  said  :  By  my  snout, 
It  was  Sir  Bevis  that  I  let  out."  ^ 

Every  reader  will  agree  with  Nash,  I  suppose,  in 
condemning  this  as  balderdash. 

Endowed  thus  with  artistic  theories  of  his  own,  with 
an  intense  love  of  literature,  with  an  inborn  gaiety  and 
faculty  of  observation,  Nash  added  to  the  collection  of 
novels  of  the  Shakespearean  era,  not  another  Bevis  of 
Hampton,  but  his  "Jack  Wilton," 2  the  best  speci- 
men of  the  picaresque  tale  in  English  literature 
anterior  to  Defoe.  His  romance,  written  in  the  form  of 
r  memoirs,  according  to  the  usual  rule  of  the  picaresque, 
is  dedicated  to  the  Earl  of  Southampton,  under  whose 
patronage  Shakespeare  had  already  placed  his  "  Venus 
and  Adonis."  It  has  the  defect  of  all  the  romances  of 
the  time,  in  England  as  elsewhere  :  it  is  incoherent  and 
badly  put  together.  But  it  contains  excellent  fragments, 
two  or  three  capital  portraits  of  individuals  which  show 
careful  observation,  and  a  few  solidly  constructed  scenes 
like  the  vengeance  of  Cutwolfe  which  allow  us  to  fore- 
see that  one  day  the  dramatic  power  of  the  English 
genius,  worn  out  doubtless  by  a  too  long  career  on  the 

^  "  Anatomie  of  Absurditie,"  1589,  "Works,"  vol.  i.  p.  37. 

"^  "  The  unfortunate  Traveller,  or  the  Life  of  Jack  Wilton,"  1 594, 
"  Works,"  vol.  V. 


\ 


THOMAS  NASH  AND  PICARESQUE  NOVEL.     309 

stage,  instead  of  dying   altogether,  will  be  revived   in 
the  novel. 

Nash,  after  the  manner  employed  by  More  in  his 
"  Utopia,"  by  Greene  in  his  ''  Ciceronis  amor,"  and 
in  our  age,  with  a  splendour  of  fame  to  which  several 
generations  have  already  borne  testimony,  by  Sir  Walter 
Scott,  introduces  historical  personages  in  his  fiction. 
The  page  Jack  Wilton,  the  hero  of  the  tale,  a  little 
superior  by  his  rank  to  the  ordinary  picaro  has,  like 
Gil  Bias,  little  money  in  his  pocket  and  a  few  odds 
and  ends  of  Latin  in  his  head ;  he  distributes  in  his 
conversation  the  trite  quotations  that  have  remained 
by  him,  skilfully  enough  to  persuade  the  vulgar  that 
he  does  not  belong  to  their  tribe.  *'  Tendit  ad  sidera 
virtus — Paulo  majora  canamus — Secundum  formam 
statuti,"  &c.,  and  from  time  to  time,  when  he  is 
greatly  elated  and  wishes  to  show  himself  in  all  his 
magnificence,  he  adopts  the  elegances  and  similes  proper 
to  the  euphuistic  style  :  "  The  sparrow  for  his  lecherie 
liveth  but  a  yeere,"  &c.i 

Wilton  is  present  first  with  the  royal  court  of 
England  at  the  siege  of  Tournay,  under  Henry  VIII. 
What  my  credit  was  at  this  court  ''  a  number  of  my 
creditors  that  I  coosned  can  testifie."  He  lives  on  the 
resources  of  his  wits,  playing  tricks  worthy  a  whipping 
if  not    a    hanging    on    respectable  persons  of   limited 

^  In  these  cases,  Nash,  or  rather  his  hero  (for  Nash  does  not 
himself"  make  use  of  this  language  which  he  in  no  way  admired, 
but  only  puts  it  into  the  mouth  of  his  self-confident  good-for- 
nothing  as  the  finishing  touch  to  his  portrait),  adopts  Lyly's  style 
entirely,  alliteration  and  all  :  "  The  sparrow  for  his  lecherie  liveth 
but  a  yeere,  he  for  his  trecherie  was  turned  on  the  toe." 


3 lo  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

capacity.  His  most  notable  victim  is  the  purveyor  of 
drink  or  victualler  to  the  camp,  a  tun-bellied  coward, 
proud  of  his  pretended  noble  descent,  a  Falstaff  grown 
old,  whose  wit  has  been  blunted,  who  has  ended  by  marry- 
ing Mistress  Quickly,  and  has  himself  become  tavern 
keeper  in  partnership  with  her.  In  old  days  he  drank 
on  credit  :  now  the  good  fellows  tipple  at  his  expense. 
Such  is  the  end  of  all  the  FalstafFs  and  all  the  Scapins. 
"  This  great  Lorde,  this  worthie  Lord,"  relates  the 
wicked  page,  ''  thought  no  scorne.  Lord  have  mercy 
upon  us,  to  have  his  great  velvet  breeches  larded  with 
the  droppings  of  this  dainty  liquor,"  that  is,  the  cider 
that  he  sold  ;  *'  and  yet  he  was  an  olde  servitor,  a 
cavelier  of  an  ancient  house,  as  it  might  appeare  by  the 
armes  of  his  ancestrie,  drawen  very  amiably  in  chalk, 
on  the  in  side  of  his  tent  doore."  ^ 

The  scene  between  the  fat,  ruddy  host,  open- 
mouthed,  blear-eyed,  and  the  frolicking  slender  page, 
who  delights  in  his  tricks  and  covers  his  victim  with 
jesting  compliments,  is  extremely  well  described. 
Wilton  finds  his  man  '*  counting  his  barrels,  and 
setting  the  price  in  chalke  on  the  head  of  everie 
one  of  them."  He  addresses  him  his  "  duty  verie 
devoutly,"  and  tells  him  he  has  matters  of  some 
secrecy  to  impart  to  him  for  which  a  private  audience 
is  necessary  : 

*'  With  me,  young  Wilton  }  quoth  he,  marie  and 
shalt.  Bring  us  a  pint  of  syder  of  a  fresh  tap  into  the 
*  Three  Cups '  ^  here  ;  wash  the  pot  ! 

'*  So  into  a  backe  roome  he  lead  mee,  where  after  hee 

had    spit   on  his  finger,  and  picked  off  two  or  three 

I  "  Works,"  vol.  V.  pp.  1 5  et  seq,    ^  Name  of  a  room  in  the  tavern. 


THOMAS  NASH  AND  PIC  ARE  SQ  UE  NO  VEL.     3 1 1 

moats  of  his  olde  moth  eaten  velvet  cap,  ...  he  badde 
me  declare  my  minde,  and  there  upon  he  dranke  to  me 
on  the  same." 

Jack  is  careful  not  to  touch  at  once  on  the  matter  in 
his  head  :  he  knows  his  man  and  attacks  him  first  by 
that  vanity  of  a  noble  descent  which  he  possesses  in 
common  with  Falstaff.  Jack  has  always  borne  him 
affection,  "  partly  for  the  high  discent  and  linage  fi-om 
whence  he  sprung,  and  partly  for  the  tender  care  and 
provident  respect  he  had  of  poore  soldiers  ...  he 
vouchsafed  in  his  own  person  to  be  a  victualer  to  the 
campe  :  a  rare  example  of  magnificence  and  courtesie ; 
and  diligently  provided,  that  without  farre  travel,  every 
man  might  have  for  his  money  syder  and  cheese  his 
bellyfull.  Nor  did  he  sell  his  cheese  by  the  way  onely, 
or  his  syder  by  the  great,  but  abast  himselfe  with  his 
owne  hands  to  take  a  shoomakers  knife :  a  homely 
instrument  for  such  a  high  personage  to  touch,  and  cut 
it  out  equally  like  a  true  justiciarie  in  little  penny^ 
worthes  that  it  would  doo  a  man  good  for  to  looke 
upon.  So  likewise  of  his  syder,  the  pore  man  might 
have  his  moderate  draught  of  it  (as  there  is  moderation 
in  all  things)  as  well  for  his  doit  or  his  dandiprat  as  the 
rich  man  for  his  halfe  souse  or  his  denier  .   .  .  ** 

Jack  goes  on  irrepressible,  overflowing ;  it  is  his 
best  moment ;  he  does  not  want  the  sport  to  end  too 
quickly :  '*  Why,  you  are  everie  childs  felow  :  any  man 
that  comes  under  the  name  of  a  souldier  and  a  good 
fellowe,  you  will  sitte  and  beare  companie  to  the  last 
pot,  yea,  and  you  take  in  as  good  part  the  homely 
phrase  of:  '  Mine  host  heeres  to  you,'  as  if  one  saluted 
you  by  all  the  titles  of  your  baronie.     These  considera- 


3 1 2  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

tions,  I  sale,  which  the  world  suffers  to  slip  by  in  the 
channel  1  of  carelesnes,  have  moved  me  in  ardent  zeale 
of  your  welfare,  to  forewarne  you  of  some  dangers  that 
have  beset  you  and  your  barrels. 

"  At  the  name  of  dangers  hee  start  up,  and  bounst 
with  his  fist  on  the  boord  so  hard,  that  his  tapster 
overhearing  him  cried  :  'Anon  !  anon  !  sir/  and  entering 
with  a  bow  askt  him  what  he  wanted. 

"  Hee  was  readie  to  have  stricken  his  tapster  for 
interrupting  him  in  attention  of  this  his  so  much 
desired  relation,  but  for  feare  of  displeasing  me  he 
moderated  his  furie,  and  onely  sending  him  for  the 
other  fresh  pint,  wild  him  looke  to  the  barre,  and  come 
when  he  is  cald  with  a  devilles  name. 

"  Well,  at  his  earnest  importunitie,  after  I  had  mois- 
tned  my  lips,  to  make  my  lie  run  glib  to  his  journies 
end,  forward  I  went  as  followeth  ..."  And  the  good 
apostle  stops  again  ;  the  cider  and  his  own  words  have 
moved  him  ;  he  is  a  little  fuddled,  so  is  mine  host  ;  they 
both  fall  to  weeping.  The  innkeeper  is  ready  to  believe 
anything,  and  at  this  moment,  which  is  the  right  one, 
the  page  at  length  determines  to  inform  him  that  in  an 
assembly  where  he  was  present,  he  heard  mine  host, 
the  purveyor  of  the  camp,  accused  of  connivance  with 
the  enemy,  by  giving  information  to  the  besieged 
through  letters  hidden  in  his  empty  barrels.  High 
treason  is  suspected  !  How  are  these  dangerous  rumours 
to  be  dissipated }  There  is  only  one  way  of  doing  it, 
that  is  in  becoming  popular  in  the  army,  very  popular  ; 
he  must  make  himself  beloved  by  all  ;  he  must  dis- 
tribute cider  freely  and  for  a  time  suppress  in  his  shop 
the  unbecoming  custom  of  paying. 


THOMAS  NASH  AND  PICARESQUE  NOVEL,     313 

The  victualler  follows  this  advice,  but  soon  the  trick 
is  discovered  ;  the  page  is  roundly  whipped,  but  being 
to  the  core  a  true  picaroon,  Wilton  does  not  for  all  that 
feel  his  spirit  in  any  way  lessened  :  "  Here  let  me 
triumph  a  while,  and  ruminate  a  line  or  two  on  the 
excellence  of  my  wit  !  "  This  is  all  the  sorrow  and 
repentance  the  whip  extracts  from  him. 

Shakespeare,  two  years  later,  fused  the  two  characters 
into  one,  caused  the  wit  of  the  page  to  enter  the  brain 
of  the  fat  man,  and  the  blending,  animated  by  his 
genius,  produced  the  inimitable  customer  of  the 
*'  Boar's  Head"  tavern. 

After  various  adventures,  Wilton  returns  to  London, 
and  struts  about  in  fine  clothes,  whose  originality  he 
describes  with  an  amusing  rush  of  language  :  "  I  had 
my  feather  in  my  cap  as  big  as  a  flag  in  the  fore-top  ; 
.  .  .  my  cape  cloake  of  blacke  cloth,  over-spreading 
my  backe  like  a  thornbacke  or  an  elephantes  ca- 
res, .  .  .  and  in  consummation  of  my  curiositie  my  hands 
without  gloves,  all  a  mode  French."  The  sense  of  the 
picturesque,  the  careful  observation  of  the  effect  of  a 
pose,  of  a  fold  of  a  garment,  were,  before  Nash,  entirely 
unknown  to  English  novel  writers,  and  it  was  not  until 
the  eighteenth  century,  until  the  time  of  Defoe,  Field- 
ing, and,  above  all,  Sterne,  that  the  author  of  "  Jack 
Wilton  "  was  excelled  in  this  special  talent. 

Soon  the  page  takes  up  the  course  of  his  adventures 
again,  and  travels  anew  on  the  continent.  He  visits 
Venice,  Florence,  Rome,  refraining  with  a  care  for 
which  he  is  to  be  thanked  from  trite  descriptions. 
What's  the  good  of  describing  the  monuments  of 
Rome  }   he  says  ;    everybody  knows   them  :  "he  that 


314  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

hath  but  once  drimke  with  a  traveller,  talkes  of  them." 
Sir  Thomas  More  contemplating  his  **  Utopia,"  John 
of  Leyden  dragged  to  the  scaffold,  the  Earl  of  Surrey 
jousting  for  the  fair  Geraldine  "  against  all  commers," 
Francis  I.,  conqueror  at  Marignan,  Erasmus,  Aretino, 
*'  one  of  the  wittiest  knaves  that  ever  God  made,"  and 
other  personages  of  the  Renaissance,  figure  in  the  nar- 
rative. Faithflil  to  the  picaresque  plot,  Nash  conducts 
his  reader  into  all  societies,  from  the  tavern  to  the 
palace,  from  the  haunt  of  robbers  to  the  papal  court, 
and  makes  his  hero  no  better  than  he  should  be.  At 
Marignan,  Wilton  occupies  himself  especially  in  dis- 
covering quickly  who  is  likely  to  be  the  strongest,  in 
order  to  attach  himself  ardently  to  the  winner.  At 
Venice  he  runs  away  with  an  Italian  lady,  deserts  his 
master,  the  Earl  of  Surrey,  and  passes  himself  off  as 
the  Earl. 

All  this  is  too  much  at  length  for  honest  Nash,  and 
feeling  not  less  displeased  than  ourselves  with  the  wicked 
actions  of  his  hero,  he  himself  interposes  at  times,  not 
without  disadvantage  to  his  plot,  and,  in  spite  of  the 
improbability  of  placing  such  remarks  in  Wilton's 
mouth,  introduces  his  own  opinions  on  the  persons  and 
incidents  of  the  romance.  This  is  an  effect  of  the 
impetuosity  of  his  temperament,  blameable  undoubtedly 
from  an  artistic  point  of  view.  We  shall  be  indulgent 
to  him  if  we  remember  that  no  author  of  the  time  was 
entirely  master  of  himself  and  faithful  to  his  plot. 
Even  Shakespeare  rarely  resists  like  temptation,  and 
when  a  poetic  image  comes  into  his  mind,  little  matters 
it  to  him  what  character  is  on  the  stage  ;  he  makes  of 
him  a  dreamer,  a  poet,  and  lends  to  him  the  exquisite 


THOMAS  NASH  AND  PICARESQUE  NOVEL,     315 

language  of  his  own  emotion.  Let  us  remember  how 
the  murderers  hired  to  assassinate  Edward's  children 
describe  the  scene  of  the  murder.  They  saw  "  the 
gentle  babes  .  .  .  girdling  one  another 

Within  their  alabaster  innocent  arms  : 

Their  lips  were  four  red  roses  on  a  stalk, 

And,  in  their  summer  beauty,  kiss'd  each  other." 

A  very  improbable  remark,  it  will  be  admitted,  on  the 
part  of  the  murderers.  But,  then,  it  -is  Shakespeare 
who  talks  aloud,  forgetting  that  he  is  supposed  not  to 
be  there. 

Nash,  with  like  heedlessness,  often  interposes  in  his 
own  person,  and  takes  the  words  out  of  his  page's 
mouth  ;  and  his  bold,  characteristic  and  concise 
opinions  are  very  curious  in  the  history  of  manners 
and  literature.  For  example,  when  he  describes  the 
war  of  the  Anabaptists  and  the  execution  of  John  of 
Leyden,  he  sums  up  thus  in  a  short  pithy  sentence  the 
current  opinion  of  his  day  among  literary  people  and 
men  of  the  world,  on  the  already  formidable  sect  of 
the  Puritans  :  "  Heare  what  it  is  to  be  Anabaptists, 
to  bee  puritans,  to  be  villaines  :  you  may  be  counted 
illuminate  botchers  for  a  while,  but  your  end  wil  be  : 
Good  people  pray  for  me." 

His  open  admiration  of  the  charity  of  the  Catholics 
at  Rome  reveals  in  him  great  independence  of  mind  and 
much  courage  :  "  Yet  this  I  must  say  to  the  shame  of 
us  Protestants,  if  good  workes  may  merit  heaven  they 
doo  them,  we  talke  of  them.  Whether  superstition  or 
no  makes  them  unprofitable  servants,  that  let  pulpets 
decide  :  but  there,  you  shall  have  the  bravest  Ladies  in 


3i6  THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL. 

gownes  of  beaten  gold,  washing  pilgrimes  and  poore 
souldiours  feete,  and  dooing  nothing  they  and  their 
wayting  mayds  all  the  yeare  long,  but  making  shirts 
and  bandes  for  them  against  they  come  by  in  distressed* 
At  Wittenberg,  Wilton  sees  "Acolastus"  performed, 
an  old  play  that  was  as  popular  in  England  as  on  the 
continent, I  and  Nash's  severe  criticism  on  the  actors 
shows  how  well  the  difference  between  good  comedians 
and  common  players  was  understood  in  London.  Nash 
shared  Shakespeare's  opinion  of  the  actors  who  "  out- 
heroded  Herod,"  and  he  would  have  been  of  Moliere's 
way  of  thinking  about  the  performances  at  the  Hotel  de 
Bourgogne  :  "  One  as  if  he  had  beene  playning  a  clay 
floore,  stampingly  troade  the  stage  so  harde  with  his 
feete,  that  I  thought  verily  he  had  resolved  to  doe  the 
carpenter  that  sette  it  uppe  some  utter  shame.  Another 
floung  his  armes  lyke  cudgelles  at  a  peare  tree,  inso- 
much as  it  was  mightily  dreaded  that  hee  woulde  strike 
the  candles  that  hung  above  theyr  heades  out  of  their 
sockets,  and  leave  them  all  darke."  This  severe  criti- 
cism may  serve  to  reassure  us  about  the  way  in  which 
the  great  English  dramas  were  interpreted  at  that 
period. 2     And  indeed  they  deserved  that  some  trouble 

^  It  was  translated  into  English  from  the  Latin  by  John  Pals- 
grave :  "Acolastus,"  London,  1540,  4to.  As  to  this  play  and  its 
author,  Gulielmus  Gnapheus  (Fullonius)  of  the  Hague,  who  had  it 
represented  in  1529,  see  C.  H.  Herford,  "Studies  in  the  Literary 
Relations  of  England  and  Germany  in  the  Sixteenth  Century," 
Cambridge,  1886,  8vo,  pp.  84  et  seq.,  108  et  seq. 

2  Ibid.  p.  71.  Cf.  "Returne  from  Parnassus,"  1601,  ed. 
Macray,  Oxford,  1886,  act  iv.  sc.  3,  pp.  138  et  seq.^  where  the  rules 
of  good  acting  are  also  under  discussion.  Shakespeare's  opinions 
on  the  same  are  well  known  ("Hamlet,"  act  iii.  sc.  2,  a.d.  1602). 


THOMAS  NASH  AND  PICARESQUE  NOVEL.     317 

should  be  taken  with  them,  for  in  London  it  was 
the  time  of  "  Romeo  and  Juliet/'  of  "  Midsummer 
Night's  Dream,"  of  "  Richard  III." 

In  fact,  Nash  does  not  only  possess  the  merit  of 
knowing  how  to  observe  the  ridiculous  side  of  human 
nature,  and  of  pourtraying  in  a  full  light  picturesque 
figures  now  worthy  of  Teniers  and  now  of  Callot ; 
some  fat  and  greasy,  others  lean  and  lank  ;  he  pos- 
sesses a  thing  very  rare  with  the  picaresque  school,  the 
faculty  of  being  moved.  He  seems  to  have  foreseen 
the  immense  field  of  study  which  was  to  be  opened 
later  to  the  novelist.  A  distant  ancestor  of  Fielding, 
as  Lyly  and  Sidney  appear  to  us  to  be  distant  ancestors 
of  Richardson,  he  understands  that  a  picture  of  active 
life,  reproducing  only,  in  the  Spanish  fashion,  scenes  of 
comedy,  is  incomplete  and  departs  from  reality.  The 
greatest  jesters,  the  most  arrogant,  the  most  venture- 
some have  their  days  of  anguish  ;  no  brow  has  ever 
remained  unfurrowed  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave,  and 
no  one  has  been  able  to  live  an  impassive  spectator  and 
not  feel  his  heart  sometimes  beat  the  quicker,  nor  bow 
his  head  in  sorrow.  Nash  caught  a  glimpse  of  this, 
and  therefore  mingled  serious  scenes  with  his  pictures 
of  comedy,  in  order  that  his  romance  might  the  more 
closely  resemble  life.  Sometimes  they  are  love  scenes  as 
when  the  Earl  of  Surrey  describes  to  us  his  awakening 
passion  for  Geraldine,  and  how  he  met  her  at  Hampton 
Court:  "Oh  thrice  emperiall  Hampton  Court,  Cupids 
inchaunted  castle,  the  place  where  I  first  sawe  the  perfect 
omnipotence  of  the  Almightie  expressed  in  mortalitie  !  " 
Sometimes  they  are  tragic  scenes  full  of  blood  and  tor- 
tures.    It  is  true  that  Nash  then  falls  into  melodrama 

19 


3 1 8  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

and  conducts  his  Wilton  to  a  sort  of  Tour  de  Nesles 
where  the  Countess  Juhana,  the  Pope's  mistress,  gives 
herself  up  to  excesses,  by  the  side  of  which  those  of  Mar- 
garet of  Burgundy  are  but  child's  play.  Murders,  rapes, 
and  scenes  of  robbery  multiply  under  cover  of  the  plague 
that  rages  at  Rome,  and  the  horrors  resulting  from  the 
pestilence  are  described  with  a  vigour  that  reminds  us 
of  Defoe,  without  however  equalling  him.  Carts  con- 
taining the  dead  go  up  and  down  the  streets,  and 
lugubrious  cries  resound  :  "  Have  you  anie  dead  to 
burie  }  Have  you  anie  dead  to  burie  ?  "  The  carts 
"  had  manie  times  of  one  house  their  whole  loading." 

Wilton  is  accused  of  murders  committed  in  his  house  ; 
the  rope  almost  about  his  neck,  he  is  saved  by  an 
English  earl,  in  exile,  who  seems  to  have  been  imbued 
with  Ascham's  teaching,  and  who  reproaches  him  for 
travelling,  especially  -  in  Italy,  where  morals  are 
so  corrupt  and  where  immorality  is  so  dangerous. 
"  Take  care,"  said  the  earl,  *'  if  thou  doest  but 
lend  halfe  a  looke  to  a  Romans  or  Italians  wife,  thy 
porredge  shall  bee  prepared  for  thee,  and  cost  thee 
nothing  but  thy  life."  The  earl,  who  proves  to  be  a 
rather  pedantic  nobleman,  passes  in  review  all  nations, 
and  proves  that  they  are  not  worth  the  trouble  of  going 
to  see.  Wilton,  whose  personal  experience  does  not  justify 
such  unfavourable  prognostications,  especially  now  that 
he  is  out  of  danger,  is  wearied  by  this  talk,  and,  pretend- 
ing important  business,  gives  his  chattering  benefactor 
the  slip.  He  is  soon  punished  ;  he  is  captured  by  the 
Jews  of  Rome  ;  his  adventures  become  more  and  more 
mysterious  and  alarming,  and  more  and  more  does 
melodrama  invade  the  story. 


THOMAS  NASH  AND  PICARESQUE  NOVEL,     319 

Sometimes,  however,  in  the  midst  of  these  abomina- 
tions, Nash's  tone  rises ;  his  language  becomes  eloquent 
and  his  emotion  infectious ;  he  shudders  himself,  horror 
penetrates  him  and  seizes  us  ;  the  jests  of  the  picaroon 
are  very  far  from  our  mind,  the  drama  is  then  as  terrible 
as  with  the  most  passionate  romanticists  of  our  century 
in  their  best  moments. 

Few  stories  of  our  day  are  better  contrived  to  give 
the  sense  of  the  horrible  than  the  story  of  the  vengeance 
of  Cutwolfe  related  by  himself  just  as  he  is  going  to  be 
tortured.  After  a  prolonged  search,  Cutwolfe  at  last 
finds  his  enemy,  Esdras  of  Granada,  alone,  in  his  shirt, 
and  far  from  all  help.  The  unfortunate  man  implores 
Cutwolfe,  whose  brother  he  had  killed,  to  make  it 
impossible  for  him  to  do  any  more  harm,  to  mutilate 
him,  but  to  spare  his  life.  His  enemy  replies  : 
*' Though  I  knewe  God  would  never  have  mercie  on 
mee  except  I  had  mercie  on  thee,  yet  of  thee  no  mercie 
would  I  have.  ...  I  tell  thee,  I  would  not  have  under- 
tooke  so  much  toyle  to  gaine  heaven,  as  I  have  done 
in  pursuing  thee  for  revenge.  Divine  revenge,  of 
which,  as  one  of  the  joies  above,  there  is  no  fulnes  or 
satietie.  Looke  how  my  feete  are  blistered  with  follow- 
ing thee  from  place  to  place.  I  have  riven  my  throat 
with  overstraining  it  to  curse  thee.  I  have  ground  my 
teeth  to  powder  with  grating  and  grinding  them 
together  for  anger,  when  anie  hath  nam'd  thee.  My 
tongue  with  vaine  threates  is  bolne,  and  waxen  too  big 
for  my  mouth.  .  .  .  Entreate  not,  a  miracle  maye  not 
reprive  thee." 

The  scene  is  prolonged.  Esdras  continues  to  beg 
for  his  life  ;  he  will  become  the  slave,  the  chattel  of 


320  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

his  enemy.  An  idea  comes  into  the  mind  of  the  latter  : 
Sell  thy  soul  to  the  devil,  and  I  will  pardon  thee. 
Esdras  immediately  utters  horrible  blasphemies. 

"  My  joints  trembled  and  quakt,"  continues  Cut- 
wolfe,  ''  with  attending  them,  my  haire  stood  upright, 
and  my  hart  was  turned  wholly  to  fire.  .  .  .  The  veyne 
in  his  left  hand  that  is  derived  from  his  heart  with  no 
faint  blow  he  pierst,  and  with  the  bloud  that  flowd  from 
it,  writ  a  hil  obligation  of  his  soule  to  the  divell  :  yea 
more  earnestly  he  praied  unto  God  never  to  forgive 
his  soule  than  manie  Christians  doo  to  save  theyr 
soules.  These  fearfull  ceremonies  brought  to  an  end, 
I  bad  him  ope  his  mouth  and  gape  wide.  He  did  so  : 
as  what  wil  not  slaves  doo  for  feare  ?  Therwith  made 
1  no  more  adoo,  but  shot  him  fill  into  the  throat  with 
my  pistol  :  no  more  spake  he  after ;  so  did  I  shoote 
him  that  hee  might  never  speak  after,  or  repent  him. 
His  body  being  dead  lookd  as  black  as  a  toad."  ^ 

This  conversation  and  the  sight  of  Cutwolfe's 
horrible  punishment,  recall  Jack  Wilton  to  himself 
He  regrets  his  irregular  life,  but  not  to  the  point  of 
refimding  the  money  stolen  from  the  Countess  Juliana; 
rich  as  Gil  Bias,  he  can  now,  like  him,  take  rank 
among  peaceable  and  settled  folk ;  he  marries  his 
Venetian  lady,  and  returns  to  the  king  of  England's 
army,  occupied  in  giving  a  grand  reception  to  Francis  I. 
at  the  Field  of  the  Cloth  of  Gold.  There  ends  the 
most  complete  career  furnished  in  England,  before 
Defoe,  by  a  character  of  fiction. 

The  primary  if  not  only  result  of  the  publication  of 
"  Jack  Wilton  "  was,  so  far  as  the  author  himself  was 
^  '*  Works,"  vol.  V.  p.  183. 


THOMAS  NASH  AND  PICARESQUE  NOVEL.     321 

concerned,  to  place  him  in  new  difficulties.  His  well- 
known  satirical  vein,  his  constant  use  and  abuse  of 
allusions,  which  often  render  him  obscure,  were  so  well 
known  that  it  was  considered  improbable  that  he  had 
been  writing  this  time  with  a  merely  artistic  aim.  He 
had  been  careful  to  state  in  his  dedication  that  readers 
would  merely  find  in  his  book  "  some  reasonable  con- 
veyance of  historic  and  varietie  of  mirth,"  and  that  he 
was  attempting  a  kind  of  writing  new  to  him  ;  it  was 
to  no  purpose.  Readers  were  on  the  look-out  for 
allusions ;  they  took  his  historical  heroes  for  living 
people  but  thinly  disguised,  and  lined  Nash's  story  with 
another  of  their  own  invention.  The  author,  who  well 
knew  the  dangers  of  such  interpretations,  never  ceased 
to  protest  that,  in  this  work  at  least,  there  was  no 
place  for  them.  When  once  the  public  is  started  upon 
such  a  track,  it  is  no  easy  matter  to  make  them  turn 
round.  Nash  had  recourse  to  his  usual  revenge,  that 
is,  to  laugh  at  his  interpreters.  "  I  am  informed,"  he 
wrote,  shortly  after  his  "  Wilton  "  was  printed,  "  there 
be  certaine  busie  wits  abrode  that  seeke  to  anagram- 
matize  the  name  of  Wittenberge  to  one  of  the  Univer- 
sities of  England  ;  that  scorn  to  be  counted  honest, 
plaine  meaning  men,  like  their  neighbours,  for  not  so 
much  as  out  of  mutton  and  potage,  but  they  will 
construe  a  meaning  of  kings  and  princes.  Let  one  but 
name  bread,  but  they  will  interpret  it  to  be  the  town 
of  Bredan  in  the  Low  countreyes  ;  if  of  beere  he  talkes, 
then  straight  he  mockes  the  countie  Beroune  in  France  ; 
if  of  foule  weather  or  a  shower  of  raine,  he  hath  relation 
to  some  that  shall  raigne  next.'*  ^ 

^   "Chrises  teares  "  (preface  of  the  edition  of  1594),  "Works," 


3  2  2  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

His  remonstrances  seem  to  have  had  very  indifferent 
success,  and  Nash,  to  our  great  loss,  did  not  again 
attempt  novel  writing.  But  the  vein  was  in  him, 
and  it  constantly  reappears  in  the  variety  of  pamphlets 
he  has  left  behind  him.  Fine  scenes  of  comedy,  good 
portraits  of  ridiculous  characters  to  be  met  in  everyday 
life,  amusing  anecdotes,  nearly  all  the  elements  of  a 
sound  comic  novel  are  scattered  through  his  writings. 
The  familiar  portraits  of  the  upstart,  of  the  false  poli- 
tician, of  the  inventor  of  new  sects,  portraits  at  which 
many  observers  of  human  nature  in  the  time  of  Shake- 
speare tried  their  hand,  are  to  be  seen  in  the  gallery 
Nash  painted  in  his  "  Pierce  Penilesse."  ^  Conformably 
to  the  fitness  of  things,  Nash  described  himself  under 
the  name  of  Pierce,^  as  Sidney  had  given  his  high  moral 
tone,  his  melancholy  and  loving  soul  to  the  shepherd 
Philisides,  as  Greene  had  told  his  own  miseries  under 
the  name  of  poor  Roberto.  Here  is  Nash's  portrait  of 
the  upstart  who  has  travelled  abroad  and  has  brought 
back  from  his  journey  nothing  more  valuable  than  scorn 
for  his  own  country  :  "  Hee  will  bee  humorous  forsooth 
and  have  a  broode  of  fashions  by  himselfe.  Somtimes, 
because  Love  commonly  wears  the  liverie  of  wit,  hee  will 
be  an  Inamorato  poeta^  and  sonnet  a  whole  quire  of  paper 
in  praise  of  Ladie  Manibetter,  his  yeolowfac'd  mistres.  . . . 

vol.  iv.  p.  5.  He  recurs  again  to  the  same  topic  in  his  "  Lenten 
StufFe  "  (1599),  ^^^  complains  that  when  he  talks  of  rushes  it  is 
taken  to  mean  Russia,  &c. 

'  "  Pierce  Penilesse  his  supplication  to  the  Divell"  (1592), 
"Works,"  vol.  ii. 

2  Nash  speaks  of  himself  as  being  Pierce  :  "This  is  a  predesti- 
nate fit  place  for  Pierse  Pennilesse  to  set  up  his  staff  on."  "Lenten 
Stuffe,"  "Works,"  vol.  v.  p.  201. 


THOMAS  NASH  AND  PICARESQUE  NO  VEL,     323 

All  Italionato  is  his  talke,  and  his  spade  peake  \i.e.y  his 
beard]  is  as  sharpe  as  if  he  had  been  a  pioner  before 
the  walls  of  Roan.  Hee  will  dispise  the  barbarisme  of 
his  owne  countrey,  and  tell  a  whole  legend  of  lyes  of 
his  travayles  unto  Constantinople.  If  he  be  challenged 
to  fight  .  .  .  hee  objects  that  it  is  not  the  custome 
of  the  Spaniard  or  the  Germaine  to  looke  backe  to 
everie  dog  that  barks.  You  shall  see  a  dapper  Jacke 
that  hath  beene  but  once  at  Deepe,  wring  his  face 
round  about,  as  a  man  would  stirre  up  a  mustard  pot 
and  talke  English  through  the  teeth,  like  Jaques  Scabd- 
hams,  or  Monsieur  Mingo  de  Moustrapo  ;  when,  poore 
slave,  he  hath  but  dipt  his  bread  in  wylde  boares  greace 
and  come  home  againe,  or  been  bitten  by  the  shinnes  by 
a  wolfe  ;  and  saith  he  hath  adventured  uppon  barricadoes 
of  Gurney  or  Guingan,  and  fought  with  the  yong 
Guise  hand  to  hand." 

Like  Benjonson,  Nash  met  on  his  way  some  Politick 
Would-Bes  that  ^'  thinke  to  be  counted  rare  politicians 
and  statesmen,  by  beeing  solitarie  :  as  who  should  say, 
I  am  a  wise  man,"  ^ — "  and  when  I  ope  my  lips,"  would 
have  added  Shakespeare,  "  let  no  dog  bark !  "  He 
has  met  inventors  of  sects,  and  has  heard  of  pre- 
Darwinian  '^  mathematicians  "  who  doubt  the  fact  that 
there  were  no   men  before  Adam  and  are  inclined  to 


I  "Works,"  vol.  ii.     Cf.  Ben  Jonson  :    "Sir  Politick  (speaking 
to  Peregrine)  : 

"  First  for  your  garb,  it  must  be  grave  and  serious, 
Very  reserv'd  and  lock'd;  not  tell  a  secret 
On  any  terms,  not  to  your  father  ;  scarce 
A  fable,  but  with  caution  "  ("  The  Fox,"  act  iv.  sc.  i). 


324  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

think  there  are  no  devils  at  all.  Nash  strongly  con- 
demns these  inventors  and  mathematicians,  drawing  at 
the  same  time  a  curious  picture  of  the  state  of  confusion 
in  religious  matters  which  was  then  so  conspicuous  in 
England  :  "  They  will  set  their  self  love  to  study  to 
invent  new  sects  of  singularitie,  thinking  to  live  when 
they  are  dead,  by  having  their  sect  called  after  their 
names:  as  Donatists  of  Donatus,  Arrian[s]  of  Arrius, 
and  a  number  more  of  new  faith  founders,  that  have 
made  England  the  exchange  of  innovations  and  almost 
as  much  confusion  of  religion  in  everie  quarter,  as  there 
was  of  tongues  at  the  building  of  the  Tower  of 
Babel 

*'  Hence  atheists  triumph  and  rejoyce  and  talke  as 
prophanely  of  the  Bible  as  of  Bevis  of  Hampton. 
I  heare  say  there  are  mathematicians  abroad  that  will 
proove  men  before  Adam  ;  and  they  are  harboured  in 
high  places,  who  will  maintayne  to  the  death  that  there 
are  no  di veils."  ^ 

Scenes  of  light  comedy  abound  in  Nash  ;  they  are 
especially  numerous  in  his  "  Lenten  Stuff,"  2  a  queer 
little  book,  his  last  work,  and  one  which  he  seems  to 
have  written  con  amove.  Never  was  he  in  better 
humour  than  when,  the  year  before  his  death,  he  betook 
himself  to  singing  "  the  praise  of  the  red  herring," 
Monsieur  Herring,  Solyman  Herring,  Sacrapant  Her- 
ring, Red  Herring  of  Red  Herring  hall,  Pater  Patriae, 
as  he  is  fond  of  calling  him,  inventing  on  each  page  a 

^  "Works,"  vol.  ii. 

2  "Nashe's  Lenten  StufFe,  containing  the  description  ...  of 
Great  Yarmouth  .  .  .  with  a  .  .  .  praise  of  the  Red  Herring," 
1599,  "Works,"  vol.  V. 


THOMAS  NASH  AND  PICARESQUE  NOVEL.     325 

new  title  for  his  hero.  There  is  no  event  in  ancient 
or  modern  history  where  he  does  not  discover  that 
"  Caesarean  Charlemaine  Herring  "  has  had  a  part  to 
play ;  no  person  of  however  mean  or  exalted  rank  who 
has  not  had  to  deal  with  "  Gentleman  Jacke  Herring." 
The  fishes  made  him  their  king,  and  the  Pope  made 
him  a  saint.  The  first  time  he  appeared  at  the  Pope's 
court  was  a  great  event  in  Christendom.  An  English 
sailor  had  sold  him  for  three  hundred  ducats  to  the 
purveyor  of  the  papal  kitchen,  and  *'  delivered  him  the 
king  of  fishes,  teaching  hym  to  geremumble  It,  sauce 
it,  and  dresse  it,  and  so  sent  him  away  a  glad  man. 
All  the  Pope's  cookes  in  their  white  sleeves  and  linnen 
aprons  met  him  middle  way  to  enter taine  and  receyve 
the  king  of  fishes,  and  together  by  the  eares  they  went, 
who  shoulde  first  handle  him  or  touch  him.  But  the 
clarke  of  the  kitchin  appeased  that  strife,  and  would 
admit  none  but  him  selfe  to  have  the  scorching  and 
carbonadoing  of  it,  and  he  kissed  his  hands  thrice, 
and  made  as  many  humhlessos  before  he  woulde  finger 
it ;  and,  such  obeysances  performed,  he  drest  it  as  he 
was  enjoyned,  kneeling  on  his  knes,  and  mumbling 
twenty  Ave  Maryes  to  hymselfe,  in  the  sacrifizing  of 
it  on  the  coales,  that  his  diligent  service  in  the  broyling 
and  combustion  of  it,  both  to  his  kingship  and  to  his 
fatherhood  might  not  seeme  unmeritorious."  ^ 

However  careful  Thomas  Nash  had  been  to  act 
according  to  the  views  attributed  to  Dr.  Andrew  Borde 
concerning  the  cultivation  of  mirth  as  a  preservative 
of  health,  he  reached  what  this  authority  calls  "  the 
mirth  of  heaven,"  with  much  more  rapidity  than  might 
^  "Lenten  StufFe,"  vol.  v.  p.  280. 


326 


THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL. 


have  been  expected.  His  mirth  diet  was  obviously 
adulterated  and  mingled  with  wrath  and  sorrow.  He 
had  been  born  in  1567,  and  we  read  about   him  in   a 


TOM    NASH    HIS    GHOST. 


comedy  performed  at  Cambridge  in  1601,  these  verses 
which  are  friendly  if  not  very  poetical : 

'*  Let  all  his  faultes  sleepe  with  his  mournfull  chest, 
And  there  for  ever  with  his  ashes  rest, 
His  style  was  wittie,  though  it  had  some  gall, 
Some  things  he  might  have  mended,  so  may  all, 
Yet  this  I  say,  that  for  a  mother  witt. 
Few  men  have  ever  seen  the  like  of  it."  ^ 


^   "  The  Returne  from  Pernassus,"  ed.  W.  D.  Macray,  Oxford, 
886,  p.  87. 


THOMAS  NASH  AND  PICARESQUE  NOVEL.     327 

The  manner  in  which  his  friend  Dekker  represents 
him,  shortly  after,  reaching  the  Elysian  fields,  leaves 
little  doubt  that  his  life  was  shortened  not  only  by  his 
angry  passions,  but  by  sheer  want :  ^'Marlow,  Greene  and 
Peele  had  got  under  the  shades  of  a  large  vyne,  laughing 
to  see  Nash,  that  was  but  newly  come  to  their  colledge, 
still  haunted  with  the  sharpe  and  satyricall  spirit  that 
followed  him  heere  upon  earthe  :  for  Nash  inveyed 
bitterly,  as  he  had  wont  to  do  against  dryfisted  patrons, 
accusing  them  of  his  untimely  death,  because  if  they 
had  given  his  Muse  that  cherlshment  which  she  most 
worthily  deserved,  hee  had  fed  to  his  dying  day  on  fat 
capons,  burnt  sack  and  sugar,  and  not  so  desperately 
have  venturde  his  life  and  shortned  his  dayes  by 
keeping  company  with  pickle  herrings."  ^ 


III. 

Some  of  Shakespeare's  contemporaries  attempted  to 
give  their  readers  "  the  like  "  of  Nash's  wit,  and  tried 
their  hand  either  at  the  picaresque  novel  or  at  the 
reproduction  of  scenes  taken  fi-om  ordinary  life,  of 
which  Greene  also  had  left  some  examples.  The  comic 
school  was  far  from  equalling  the  fecundity  of  its 
romantic  rival ;  it  existed  however,  and  though  abso- 
lutely forgotten  now,  it  helped  to  keep  up  and  improve 
the  natural  gift  of  observation  which  belonged  to 
the  English  race. 

One    of  the  most   extraordinary  ventures   ever   at- 

^  "A  Knights  Conjuring,"  1607,  "Works,"  ed.   Grosart,  vol.  v. 

p.   XX. 


328  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

tempted  in  the  picaresque  style  was  made  by  Henry 
Chettle,  another  member  of  the  group  to  which  Greene, 
Nash,  and  the  others  belonged.  He  was,  like  Nash 
himself,  a  personal  friend  of  Greene,  and  published  after 
his  death  his  "  Groats-worth  of  wit,"  1592,  for  which, 
as  we  have  seen,  he  had  to  offer  in  his  next  pamphlet 
explanations  and  apologies,  among  others,  to  Shake- 
speare. Chettle  seems  to  have  followed  the  literary 
career  usual  in  his  time  ;  he  composed  many  dramas 
alone  ^  or  in  collaboration  ;  he  was  perpetually  borrow- 
ing money  from  the  notorious  Henslowe,  and  he  was 
occasionally  lodged  in  Her  Majesty's  prisons.  In  1595 
he  published  his  "  Piers  Plainnes  seaven  yeres  pren- 
tiship,"  2  in  which  we  find,  mingled  together,  Sidney's 
Arcady,  Greene's  romantic  heroes,  and  the  customary 
incidents  of  picaresque  novels.  The  scene  is  laid  in 
Tempe ;  there  are  Menalcas  and  Corydons  ;  there  are 
sheep  who  are  poetically  invited  by  their  keeper  to  eat 
their  grass  : 

"  Sport  on  faire  flocke  at  pleasure 
Nip  Vestaes  flouring  treasure." 

There  is  too  Piers  Plain,  now  a  shepherd  but 
formerly  nothing  short  of  a  picaro,  who  has  seen  much 
and  has  followed  many  trades,  and  served  many  masters. 
His  companions  asked  for  his  story,  and  he  very 
willingly  agreed  to  tell  them  what  he  had   been,  "  and 

^  Only  one  of  this  sort  has  been  preserved  :  "The  tragedy  of 
Hoffman  or  a  revenge  for  a  father,"  published  in  163 1.  Chettle 
died  about  1607. 

^  London,  1595,  4to.  It  has  never  been  reprinted  ;  only  one 
copy  belonging  to  the  Bodleian  Library  is  known  to  exist. 


THOMAS  NASH  AND  PICARESQUE  NOVEL,     329 

what  the  world  is,"  no  mean  subject  to  be  sure,  and 
no  wonder  that  he  "  cravde  pardon  to  sit  because  the 
taske  was  long,  which  they  willingly  graunted."  Piers, 
according  to  the  picaresque  traditions,  had  been  the 
servant  of  many  masters ;  he  tells  his  experience  of  them 
in  the  first  person,  following  also  in  this  the  rules  of  the 
picaresque  tale.  He  first  introduces  us  to  a  swaggering 
and  cowardly  courtier,  and  plays  his  part  in  intrigues 
and  conspiracies.  Then  he  describes  the  "  vertuous 
and  famous  virgin  ^liana,"  Queen  of  Crete,  who 
delighted  in  hunting,  and  went  to  the  woods  "  Diana- 
like."    To  be  "  Diana-like,"  she  dressed  as  follows  : 

^'  On  her  head  she  wore  a  coronet  of  orlentall  pearle  ; 
on  it  a  chaplet  of  variable  flowers  perfuming  the  ayre 
with  their  divers  odors,  thence  carelessly  descended 
her  amber  coloured  hair  .  .  .  Her  buskins  were 
richly  wrought  like  the  Delphins  spangled  cabazines  ; 
her  quiver  was  of  unicornes  home,  her  darts  of  yvorie  ; 
in  one  hand  she  helde  a  boare  speare,  the  other  guided 
her  Barbary  jennet,  proud  by  nature,  but  nowe  more 
proude  in  that  he  carried  natures  fairest  worke,  the 
Easterne  worlds  chiefe  wonder."  In  a  somewhat  similar 
style  Zucchero  painted  the  Queen,  not  of  Crete,  but 
of  England,  and  when  dressed  in  this  fashion.  Her 
Majesty  too,  was  supposed  to  be  represented  "  Diana- 
like." 

Of  the  misrule  in  Crete,  and  of  the  dangers  ^Eliana 
runs  from  the  incestuous  passions  of  her  uncle,  and 
of  her  escape  through  the  providential  intervention 
of  Prince  ^milius,  we  shall  say  nothing  ;  nor  of  the 
"  frolicke  common-wealth  "  established  in  Thrace,  feel- 
ing   as   we  do   some    sympathy   with    Cory  don,    who 


330  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

interrupts  the  speaker,  saying :  *'  Reach  hither  thy 
bottle  that  we  may  drinke  round  ;  I  am  sure  thou 
must  needes  be  dry  with  talking  when  I  am  so  a  thirst 
with  hearing."  Piers  passes  from  the  court  to  the 
shop  of  a  dealer  in  old  clothes  and  an  usurer.  He 
leads  a  very  miserable  life,  and  we  have  sordid  de- 
scriptions of  scenes  in  low  life  with  which  Chettle 
was  better  acquainted  than  with  the  loves  of  ^milius 
and  ^liana.  Princes  and  princesses  come  in  again  ; 
there  are  revolutions,  awful  dangers  and  marvellous 
deliverances.  All  ends  happily,  and  Piers  and  his 
hearers  agree  to  meet  "  at  theyr  ploughman's  holidaye. 
Where  what  happened,  if  Piers  Plainnes  please,  shall 
per  adventure  be  published."  This  "  adventure " 
never  took  place.  The  incoherent  mixture  of  the 
picaresque,  romantic,  and  Arcadian  tale  resulted  in 
such  an  unpalatable  compound  that  even  novel-readers 
of  Shakespeare's  time  objected  to  a  narration  of  this 
kind,  and  did  not  trouble  Chettle  with  a  demand  for  its 
continuation. 

His  reputation  therefore  rests  mainly  on  his  dramas. 
One  of  his  most  frequent  associates  in  writing  them, 
and  one  of  the  most  prolific  and  gifted,  Thomas 
\j  Dekker,  was  also  something  of  a  novelist.  He  has 
left,  besides  a  great  quantity  of  plays,  a  number  of 
pamphlets  written  very  much  in  Nash's  veln,i  in  which 
there    is   some    excellent    realism,    together    with    the 

^  Some  also  are  in  Greene's  and  Harman's  vein  ;  for  example,  his 
''*  Belman  of  London,"  1608,  and  his  "  Lanthorne  and  candle-light," 
1608,  in  which  he  describes,  with  no  less  success  than  his  pre- 
decessors, "  the  most  notorious  villanies  that  are  now  practised  in 
the  kingdome." 


THOMAS  NASH  AND  PICARESQUE  NOVEL.     331 

most  amusing  and  whimsical  fancies.  ^  His  biography 
is  a  mere  repetition  of  his  friend's  life,  and  the  words  : 
Henslowe,  drama,  penury,  pamphlets,  prison,  quarrels, 
put  together,  will  give  a  sufficient  idea  of  the  sort  of 
existence  led  by  him  as  well  as  by  so  many  of  his 
associates. 2  He  wrote  some  of  his  plays  alone,  many 
others  with  numberless  collaborators,  such  as  Chettle, 
Drayton,  Wilson,  Ben  Jonson  (with  whom  he  after- 
wards had  a  violent  quarrel),  Haughton,  Day,  Munday, 
Hathaway,  Middleton,  Webster,  Heywood,  Wentworth 
Smith,  Massinger,  Ford,  Rowley,  and  even  others,  for 

^  "Dramatic  Works,  now  first  collected,"  London  (Pearson), 
1873,4.  vol.  ^^^'  '•>  "Non-Dramatic  Works,"  ed.  Grosart,  London, 
1884,  5  vol.  4to,  which  non- dramatic  works  are  the  following  : 

L  "  Canaans  Calamite,  Jerusalem's  misery,"  161 1  (a  poem  on 
the  siege  and  destruction  of  Jerusalem  by  the  Romans) ;  "  The 
wonderfull  yeare  1603"  (on  the  plague  of  London);  "The 
Batchelars  banquet,"  1603  (an  adaptation  of  the  "  Quinze  joyes 
de  mariage").  II.  "The  seven  deadly  sinnes  of  London  .  .  . 
bringing  the  plague  with  them,"  1606;  "Newes  from  Hell,"  1606, 
shortly  after  reprinted  as  "  A  Knights  conjuring  ";  "  The  double 
P.P.,  a  papist  in  armes,"  1606  (in  verse);  "The  Guls  Horne- 
booke,"  1609;  "Jests  to  make  you  merie,"  1607.  III.  "  Dekker 
his  dreame,"  1620  (in  verse);  "The  Belman  of  London,"  1608  ; 
"  Lanthorne  and  candle-light,"  1609;  "A  strange  horse  race, 
at  the   end  of  which   comes   in   the    catch-poles  masque,"    161 3. 

IV.  "  The  dead  tearme  or  ...  a  dialogue  betweene  the  two 
cityes  of  London  and  Westminster,"  1608  ;  "Worke  for  armourers 
.  .  .  open  warres  likely  to  happin,"  1609  ;  "The  ravens  Alma- 
nacke,  foretelling  of  a  plague,"  &c.,  1609  ;  "  A  rod  for  run-awayes, 
in  which  .  . .  they  may  behold  many  fearefull  Judgements  of  God  .  .  . 
expressed  in   many  dreadfull    examples  of  sudden  deVth,"    1625. 

V.  "  Fourebirdes  of  Noahs  Arke,"  161 3;  "The  pleasant  comodie 
of  Patient  Grissil,"  1603   (with  Chettle  and  Haughton). 

"^  Only  there  was  this  notable  difference,  he  died  old,  at  about 
seventy  years  of  age,  probably  in  1641. 


332  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

the  dramatic  faculty  was  then  so  very  common  that 
any  one,  so  to  say,  was  good  enough  to  act  as  a 
collaborator  in  writing  plays. 

He  had  many  traits  in  common  with  Nash  :  the 
same  excellent  faculty  of  observation,  the  same  gaiety 
and  entrain^  with  powers  of  his  own  to  associate  it 
with  the  most  exquisite  tenderness  and  pathos ;  the 
same  love  for  literature  and  for  the  poets,  for  Chaucer, 
for  Spenser,  whose  arrival  in  the  Elysian  fields  he 
describes  in  a  way  to  tempt  the  pencil  of  a  painter  : 
"  Grave  Spenser  was  no  sooner  entred  into  this 
chappell  of  Apollo,  but  these  elder  fathers  of  the 
divine  furie  gave  him  a  lawrer  and  sung  his  welcome  ; 
Chaucer  call'd  him  his  sonne  and  plac'd  him  at  his 
right  hand.  All  of  them,  at  a  signe  given  by  the 
whole  quire  of  the  Muses  that  brought  him  thither, 
closing  up  their  lippes  in  silence,  and  turning  all  their 
eares  for  attention  to  heare  him  sing  out  the  rest  of 
Fayrie  Queenes  prayses."  ^ 

But  a  marked  difference  between  Dekker  and  Nash 
resulted  from  the  fact  that  Dekker  had  not  only  a  love 
of  poetry,  but  a  poetical  faculty  of  a  high  order.  He 
went  far  beyond  the  picturesqueness  of  Nash's  word- 
painting,  and  reached  in  his  prose  as  well  as  in  his 
verse  true  lyrical  emotion  and  pathos  ;  he  had,  said 
Lamb,   "  poetry  enough   for  anything  ; "  ^   and  while 

^  "A  Knights  conjuring,"  1607.  In  the  same  happy  retreat 
Dekker,  gives  a  place  to  Watson,  Kyd,  Marlowe,  Greene,  Peele, 
Nash,  Chettle,  who  comes  in  "  sweating  and  blowing,  by  reason  of 
his  fatness"  ("Non-Dramatic  Works,"  vol.  v.  p.  xx.). 

2  "  Notes  on  the  Elizabethan  Dramatists "  ;  "  Philip  Massinger  ; 
Thomas  Dekker." 


THOMAS  NASH  AND  PICARESQUE  NOVEL.     333 

Nash's  gaiety,  true  and  hearty  as  it  is,  takes  often  and 
naturally  a  bitter  satirical  turn,  Dekker's  gaiety  though 
sometimes  bitter,  more  usually  takes  a  pretty,  graceful, 
and  fanciful  turn.  "  Come,  strew  apace,  strew,  strew  : 
in  good  troth  tis  a  pitty  that  these  flowers  must  be 
trodden  under  feete  as  they  are  like  to  be  anon  .  .  . 


DEKKER    HIS    DREAM. 


"  Pitty  ?  come  foole,  fling  them  about  lustily  ; 
flowers  never  dye  a  sweeter  death  than  when  they  are 
smoother'd  to  death  in  a  Lovers  bosome,  or  else  pave 
the  high  wayes  over  which  these  pretty,  simpering, 
setting  things  call'd  brides  must  trippe."  ^ 

^  "  Satiro-mastix  or  the  untrussing  of  the  humorous  poet,"  1602. 

20 


334       '  THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL. 

Intimate  literary  ties,  however,  existed  between  Nash 
and  Dekker  ;  many  passages  in  the  one  remind  us  of 
similar  things  in  the  other,  the  result  sometimes  of 
actual  imitation,  sometimes  of  involuntary  reminis- 
cences. Dekker  was  well  aware  of  the  family  likeness 
between  the  two,  so  much  so  that  we  see  him  once  call- 
ing Nash*s  ghost  to  his  assistance,  as  one  from  whom 
he  might  most  naturally  gain  help  :  "  And  thou  into 
whose  soule  .  .  .  the  raptures  of  that  fierie  and  i neon- 
finable  Italian  spirit  were  bounteously  and  boundlesly 
infused  ;  thou  sometimes  secretary  to  Pierce  Pennylesse 
and  master  of  his  requests,  ingenious,  ingenuous,  fluent, 
facetious  T.  Nash,  from  whose  aboundant  pen  hony 
flowed  to  thy  friends,  and  mortall  aconite  to  thy 
enemies  ;  thou  that  madest  the  doctor  a  flat  dunce  ^ 
.  .  .  sharpest  satyre,  luculent  poet,  elegant  orator,  get 
leave  for  thy  ghost  to  come  from  her  abiding  and 
to  dwell  with  me  awhile."  2 

Nash's  ghost  was  most  certainly  hovering  about 
Dekker  when  he  was  writing  the  pamphlet  from  which 
this  apostrophe  is  taken  ;  it  taught  him  how  to  disrobe 
for  our  amusement  the  heroes  of  antique  legends  of 
their  dignified  looks  and  dresses,  and  place  their  haloed 
selves  in  the  open  daylight  of  the  street  below  our 
window.  With  all  his  admiration  for  Marlowe's 
performance  Nash  had  told,  in  very  ludicrous  fashion 

"Dramatic  Works  "  vol.  i.  p.  186.  This  is  the  play  Dekker  wrote 
as  a  revenge  for  Ben  Jonson's  '^  Poetaster,"  1601,  in  which  he  was 
himself  ridiculed  under  the  name  of  Demetrius. 

^  /.^.,  Gabriel  Harvey,  Nash's  obstinate  adversary. 

'^  "Newes  from  Hell,"  "Non-Dramatic  Works,"  vol.  ii.  pp. 
102-103. 


THOMAS  NASH  AND  PICARESQUE  NOVEL.     335 

indeed,  the  story  of  Hero  and  Leander,  associating  in 
a  manner  unwarranted  by  ancient  historians  their  fate 
with  the  vicissitudes  of  Great  Yarmouth  and  the  red 
herring.  In  the  same  way  Dekker  makes  choice  of 
that  exquisite  tale  of  Orpheus  which  reads  so  patheti- 
cally in  the  prose  of  King  Alfred,  and  he  tells  it  thus  : 

"  Assist  mee  therefore,  thou  genius  of  that  ventrous 
but  zealous  musicion  of  Thrace,  Euridice's  husband, 
who  being  besotted  on  his  wife,  of  whiche  sin  none 
but  .  .  .  should  be  guiltie,  went  alive  with  his  fiddle 
at's  backe,  to  see  if  he  could  bail  her  out  of  that 
adamantine  prison.  The  fees  he  was  to  pay  for  her 
were  jigs  and  countrey-daunces  :  he  paid  them  ;  the 
forfeits  if  he  put  on  yellow  stockings  and  lookt  back 
upon  her,  was  her  everlasting  lying  there,  without 
bayle  or  mayne-prize.  The  loving  coxcomb  could  not 
choose  but  look  backe,  and  so  lost  her  :  perhaps  hee  did 
it  because  he  would  be  rid  of  her.  The  morall  of 
which  is,  that  if  a  man  leave  his  owne  busines  and 
have  an  eie  to  his  wives  dooings,  sheele  give  him  the 
slip  though  she  runne  to  the  divell  for  her  labour."  i 

Dekker  did  not  write  novels  properly  so  called,  but 
his  prose  works  abound  with  scenes  that  seem  detached 
from  novels,  and  that  were  so  well  fitted  for  that  kind 
of  writing  that  we  find  them  again  in  the  works  of 
professional  novelists  of  his  or  of  a  later  time.  His 
"  Wonderfull  yeare  1603,"  from  which  Defoe  seems 
to  have  taken  several  hints,  abounds  in  scenes  of  this 
sort. 2     It   is  a  book  "  wherein  is  shewed  the  picture 

^  "Newes  from  Hell,"  "Non-Dramatic  Works,"  vol.  ii.  p.  loi. 
2  "  Non-Dramatic  Works,*'  vol.  i,  Cf.  Defoe's  "  Journal  of  the 
phgue  year   .  ,    .    1665,"  London,  1722. 


336  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

of  London  lying  sicke  of  the  plague.  At  the  ende 
of  all,  like  a  mery  epilogue  to  a  dull  play  sundry 
tales  are  cut  out  in  sundry  fashions  of  purpose  to 
shorten  the  lives  of  long  winters  nights  that  lye 
watching  in  the  darke  for  us."  Some  of  these  tales 
are  extremely  well  told,  for  Dekker  is  more  successful 
in  describing  the  humours  than  the  terrors  of  the 
plague.  In  one  of  them  we  find  another  copy  of  the 
fat  hostler  so  well  described  already  by  Nash  and,  as 
it  seems,  inspired  by  a  reminiscence  of  the  picture  in 
"  Jack  Wilton."  Dekker's  man  is  not  thinner,  cleaner, 
nor  braver  than  Nash's  victualler.  He  is  a  country 
innkeeper  :  ''  a  goodly  fat  burger  he  was,  with  a  belly 
arching  out  like  a  beere-barrell,  which  made  his  legges, 
that  were  thicke  and  short  like  two  piles  driven  under 
London  bridge.  ...  In  some  corners  of  [his  nose] 
there  were  blewjsh  holes  that  shone  like  shelles  of 
mother  of  pearle  ....  other  were  richly  garnisht  with 
rubies,  chrisolites,  and  carbunckles,  which  glistered  so 
orient ly,  that  the  Hamburgers  offered  I  know  not 
how  many  dollars  for  his  companie  in  an  East-Indian 
voyage,  to  have  stoode  a  nightes  in  the  poope  of  their 
Admirall,  onely  to  save  the  charge  of  candles. 

^'  In  conclusion  he  was  an  host  to  be  ledde  before 
an  Emperour,  and  though  he  were  one  of  the  greatest 
men  in  all  the  shire,  his  bignes  made  him  not  proude, 
but  he  humbled  himself  to  speake  the  base  language 
of  a  tapster,  and  uppon  the  Londoners  first  arrival, 
cried  :  '  Welcome  !  a  cloth  for  this  gentleman  ! '  The 
linnen  was  spread  and  furnisht  presently  with  a  new 
cake  and  a  can,  the  roome  voided,  and  the  guest  left, 
like  a  French  Lord,  attended  by  no  bodie."  ^ 

^  "Non -Dramatic  Works,"  vol.  i.  pp.  138  et  seq. 


THOMAS  NASH  AND  PICARESQUE  NO  VEL.     337 

This  new-comer,  freshly  arrived  from  London  was 
flying  on  account  of  the  plague  ;  but  it  so  happened 
that  he  had  himself  already  contracted  the  disease  ; 
he  was  scarcely  seated  before  it  grew  upon  him  and 
he  fell  dead.  Great  was  the  terror  in  the  inn.  The 
host,  the  maids,  all  the  Inmates  ran  from  the  corpse 
and  left  the  house  ;  the  terror  spread  in  the  borough  ; 
no  one  would  even  walk  near  the  place. 

'^  At  last  a  tinker  came  sounding  through  the  towne, 
mine  hosts  being  the  auncient  watring  place  where  he 
did  use  to  cast  anchor.  You  must  understand  he  was 
none  of  those  base  rascally  tinkers  that  with  a  ban- 
dog and  a  drab  at  their  tayles  and  a  picke  stafFc  at  their 
necks  will  take  a  purse  sooner  then  stop  a  kettle.  No 
this  was  a  devout  tinker,  he  did  honor  God  Pan  ;  a 
musicall  tinker,  that  upon  his  kettle-drum  could  play 
any  count rey-dance  you  cald  for,  and  upon  Holly-dayes 
had  earned  money  by  it,  when  no  fidler  could  be  heard 
of.  Hee  was  onely  feared  when  he  stalkt  through 
some  towns  where  bees  were,  for  he  strucke  so  sweetely 
on  the  bottome  of  his  copper  instrument  that  he  would 
emptie  whole  hives  and  leade  the  swarmes  after  him, 
only  by  the  sound." 

These  two  beings,  the  host  and  tinker,  depicted  as 
vividly  by  Dekker  as  Callot  would  have  drawn  them, 
meet  in  the  open  air,  and  the  former  offers  the  tinker 
a  crown  if  he  undertakes  to  bury  the  dead  man.  The 
tinker  haggles  for  better  payment  and  they  agree  for 
ten  shillings.  "  The  whole  parish  had  warning  of  this 
presently  .  .  .  therefore  ten  shillings  were  leveyed 
out  of  hand,  put  into  a  rag,  which  was  tyed  to  the 
ende  of  a  long  pole  and  delivered,  in  sight  of  all  the 


338  THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL. 

parish,  who  stood  aloofe  stopping  their  noses,  by 
the  head  boroughs  owne  selfe  in  proper  person." 
Nothing  dismayed  by  this  awful  array,  the  tinker  sits 
at  table,  drinks  deep,  takes  the  corpse  on  his  back 
and  carries  it  to  a  field.  Before  committing  it  to  the 
earth  he  carefully  searches  its  pockets  and  empties 
them  ;  he  then  makes  a  parcel  of  the  clothes  "  and 
carrying  that  at  the  end  of  his  staiFe  on  his  shoulder, 
with  the  purse  of  seven  pounds  in  his  hand,  backe 
againe  comes  he  through  the  towne,  crying  aloud  : 
*  Have  you  any  more  Londoners  to  bury  ;  Hey  downe 
a  downe  dery ;  Have  you  any  more  Londoners  to 
bury  ? '  The  Hobbinolls  running  away  from  him  as  if 
he  had  beene  the  dead  citizens  ghost,  and  he  marching 
away  from  them  in  all  the  hast  he  could,  with  that 
song  still  in  his  mouth." 

Another  sort  of  writing  congenial  to  Dekker's 
temperament,  and  which  novelists  of  a  later  date  con- 
tinued to  cultivate  after  him,  are  those  series  of 
counsels  or  praises  in  which,  with  due  seriousness,  the 
thing  is  recommended  or  praised  which  ought  to  be 
avoided.  An  example  of  this  kind  of  satirical  com- 
position is  the  famous  "  Quinze  joye&  de  mariage," 
in  which  the  pleasant  humours  of  a  young  wife  are 
described  in  such  a  way  as  to  deter  even  a  Panurge 
from  marrying.    Another  example  is  the  "  Grobianus  "  ^ 

'  "  Grobianus.  De  morum  simplicitate,  libri  duo.  In  gratiam 
omnium  rusticitatem  amantium  conscripti,"  Francfort,  1549, 
8vo.  It  was  translated  into  English  by  "  R.  F.,"  a  little  before 
Dekker  adapted  it  :  "The  schoole  of  slovenrie  :  or  Cato  turned 
wrong  side  outward  ...  to  the  use  of  all  English  Christendome," 
London,  1605,  4to.  In  the  same  category  of  works  may  be 
placed  Erasmus's  famous:  "  Moriae  Encomium,"  Antwerp,  15 12, 


THOMAS  NASH  AND  PICARESQUE  NOVEL.     339 

Latin  poem  of  the  German  F.  Dedekind,  which  enjoyed 
an  immense  reputation  throughout  Europe  in  the  six- 
teenth century  ;  it  contains  ironical  advice  to  a  gallant 
with  regard  to  his  behaviour  so  that  in  any  given 
circumstances  he  may  be  as  objectionable  and  improper 
as  possible. 

Dekker  translated  both  works  into  English,  but 
with  many  alterations,  so  numerous  indeed,  especially 
in  the  last,  that  his  book  may  be  considered  almost 
original. I  He  called  it  "  The  Guls  Horne-booke,"  or 
alphabet.  He  gives  in  it  a  lively  description  of  the 
humours  of  gallants  in  the  time  of  Shakespeare,  of  the 
places  they  used  to  frequent,  and  the  company  they 
liked  to  meet.  Grobianism  differs  from  the  picaresque 
tale  by  the  absence  of  a  story  connecting  the  various 
scenes,  but  it  resembles  it  in  the  opportunity  it  affords 
for  describing  a  variety  of  characters,  humours,  and 
places.  In  the  same  way  as  we  follow  the  picaro  in 
the  houses  of  his  several  masters,  we  here  follow  the 
gallant  from  his  rooms  to  his  ordinary,  and  from  St. 
Paul's  to  the  play.  We  climb  with  him  to  the  top  of 
the  cathedral,  we  show  our  new  garments  in  the  walks, 
meet  courtiers,  soldiers  and  poets  at  dinner,  stroll  at 
night  in  the  dark  streets  of  the  city  and  fall  in  with 

4to,  translated  by  Sir  T.  Chaloner  :  "  The  Praise  of  Folic," 
London,  1549,  4to.  Many  scenes  in  the  comedies  of  the  period 
are  written  in  a  style  akin  to  Grobianism.  They  are  especially 
to  be  found  in  Ben  Jonson  ;  see,  for  example,  his  satire  of  cour- 
tiers in  "Cynthia's  revels,"  act  iii.  sc.  i  and  3,  &c.  ;  note  how 
their  elegancies  of  speech  are  mostly  derived  from  plays  and  novels. 
^  "The  Bachelars  banquet  .  .  .  pleasantly  discoursing  the 
various  humours  of  women,"  1603;  "The  Guls  Horne-booke," 
1609;  "Non-Dramatic  Works,"  vols.  i.  and  ii. 


340  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

the  watch.  Here,  again,  Dekker  paints  from  life  scenes 
with  which  he  was  familiar,  and  we  have  but  to  follow 
his  footsteps  to  become  acquainted  with  the  haunts  of 
the  Bohemians  of  his  time,  and  of  the  great  men  too, 
of  Jonson  and  Shakespeare  themselves. 

The  scene  at  the  theatre  is  the  most  original  and 
lively  of  all.  The  serio-comic  advice  to  the  gallant 
how  he  '*  should  behave  himself  in  a  playhouse  "  Ms  a 
perfect  picture  of  what  was  daily  taking  place,  be  the 
play  Shakespeare's  "  Hamlet "  or  Dekker's  ''  Patient 
Grissil."  -  Of  course  the  gallant  must  sit  on  the 
stage  and  ''  on  the  very  rushes,"  which  in  the  theatre, 
and  also  in  palaces  and  houses,  continued  as  in  the 
Middle  Ages  to  serve  for  carpets  ;  3  he  will  not  care  for 
the  disapprobation  of  the  groundlings,  but  must  plant 
himself  valiantly,  "  beating  downe  the  mewes  and  hisses 
of  opposed  rascality. 

"  For  do  but  cast  up  a  reckoning  ;  what  large 
commings-in  are  pursd  up  by  sitting  on  the  stage  ? 
First  a  conspicuous  eminence  is  gotten  ;  by  which 
meanes,  the  best  and  most  essencial  parts  of  a 
gallant  (good  cloathes,  a  proportionable  legge,  white 
hand,  the  Persian  lock,  and  a  tollerable  beard),  are 
perfectly  revealed." 

Of  course  you  must  choose  with  the  greatest  care 

^  "  Non-Dramatic  Works,"  vol.  ii.  pp.  246  et  seq. 

2  1603  ;  with  Chettle  and  Haughton. 

3  A  scene  at  court.  '•'•  Amorphus  (to  the  prentice  courtier  Asotus)  : 
If  you  had  but  so  far  gathered  your  spirits  to  you  as  to  have 
taken  up  a  rush  when  you  were  out,  and  wagged  it  thus,  or  cleansed 
your  teeth  with  it  ;  or  but  turn'd  aside  .  .  ."  &c.  Ben  Jonson, 
"Cynthia's  Revels,"  act  iii.  sc.  i. 


THOMAS  NASH  AND  PICARESQUE  NOVEL.     341 

your  time  to  come  in.  "  Present  not  your  selfe  on 
the  stage  especially  at  a  new  play  until  the  quaking 
Prologue  hath,  by  rubbing,  got  [colour]  into  his 
cheekes  and  is  ready  to  give  the  trumpets  their  cue 
that  hees  upon  point  to  enter :  for  then  it  is  time,  as 
though  you  were  one  of  the  properties,  or  that  you 
dropt  out  of  ye  hangings,  to  creepe  from  behind  the 
arras,  with  your  tripos  or  three-footed  stoole  in  one 
hand  and  a  teston  (/.^.,  six  pence)  mounted  betweene 
a  forefinger  and  a  thumbe  in  the  other  ;  for  if  you 
should  bestow  your  person  upon  the  vulgar  when  the 
belly  of  the  house  is  but  halfe  full,  your  apparell  is 
quite  eaten  up,  the  fashion  lost  .   .   /'  ^ 

When  the  play  is  well  begun,  there  is  also  a  special 
behaviour  to  observe  :  "  It  shall  crowne  you  with  rich 
commendation  to  laugh  alowd  in  the  middest  of  the 
most  serious  and  saddest  scene  of  the  terriblest  tragedy; 
and  to  let  that  clapper  your  tongue,  be  tost  so  high 
that  all  the  house  may  ring  of  it  :  your  lords  use  it  ; 
your  knights  are  apes  to  the  lords,  and  do  so  too  .  .  . 
be  thou  a  beagle  to  them  all.  .  .  .  [At]  first,  all  the 
eyes  in  the  galleries  will  leave  walking  after  the  players 
and  onely  follow  you  ;  the  simplest  dolt  in  the  house 
snatches  up  your  name,  and  when  he  meetes  you  in 
the  streetes,  .  .  .  heele  cry  :  '  hees  such  a  gallant.'  .  .  . 
Secondly  you  publish  your  temperance  to  the  world, 
in  that  you  seeme  not  to  resort  thither  to  taste  vaine 

^  Cf.  Ben  Jonson  :  "  Why,  throw  yourself  in  state  on  the  stage, 
as  other  gentlemen  use,  sir." — "Away,  wag;  what,  would'st  thou 
make  an  implement  of  me  ?  'Slid,  the  boy  takes  me  for  a  piece  of 
perspective,  I  hold  my  life,  or  some  silk  curtain,  come  to  hang  the 
stage  here"  ("Cynthia's  Revels,"  Induction). 


342  THE' ENGLISH  NOVEL. 

pleasures  with  a  hungrie  appetite ;  but  only  as  a 
gentleman  to  spend  a  foolish  houre  or  two,  because 
you  can  doe  nothing  else  ;  thirdly  you  mightily  dis- 
relish the  audience  and  disgrace  the  author."  Perhaps 
the  next  time  he  will  be  wise  enough  to  offer  you  a 
dedication  sonnet  "  onely  to  stop  your  mouth." 

The  getting  away  must  not  be  less  carefully 
performed  than  the  getting  in.  If  you  owe  the 
author  a  particular  grudge,  mind  you  leave  just  in 
the  middle  of  his  play  :  "  bee  it  Pastoral  or  Comedy, 
Morall  or  Tragedie,  you  rise  with  ►  a  screwd  and 
discontented  face  from  your  stoole  to  be  gone  :  no 
matter  whether  the  scenes  be  good  or  no ;  the  better 
they  are,  the  worse  you  distast  them.  And  being  on 
your  feet,  sneake  not  away  like  a  coward  ;  but  salute 
all  your  gentle  acquaintance,  that  are  spred  either  on 
the  rushes  or  on  stooles  about  you  ;  and  draw  what 
troope  you  can  from  the  stage  after  you.  The 
mimicks  are  beholden  to  you  for  allowing  them 
elbow  roome  ;  their  poet  cries  perhaps,  '  A  pox  go 
with  you  *  ;  but  care  not  for  that  ;  there  is  no  musick 
without  frets." 

But  the  rain  outside  may  deprive  you  of  the  benefits 
of  this  carefully  laid  plan.  In  that  case,  and  this  is  the 
last  piece  of  advice,  here  is  what  you  must  do  :  "  If 
either  the  company  or  indisposition  of  the  weather  binde 
you  to  sit  it  out,  my  counsell  is  then  that  you  turne 
plain  ape  :  take  up  a  rush,  and  tickle  the  earnest  eares 
of  your  fellow  gallants  to  make  other  fooles  fall  a 
laughing ;  mewe  at  passionate  speeches ;  blare  at  merrie  ; 
find  fault  with  the  musicke  ;  whew  at  the  children's 
action,  whistle  at  the  songs." 


THOMAS  NASH  AND  PICARESQUE  NOVEL.     343 

Dekker  knew  only  too  well  such  gallants  as  those 
he  describes,  and  if  his  picture  of  a  theatre  in 
Shakespeare's  time  seems  now  somewhat  exaggerated, 
if  we  cannot  conceive  ''Hamlet"  or  "Rgmeo" 
performed  while  gallants  on  the  stage  tickle  each 
other's  ears  with  rushes  picked  from  the  stage  boards, 
let  us  remember  as  a  confirmation  of  his  accuracy  that 
such  customs  were  prevalent,  not  only  in  England,  but 
in  Europe.  In  France  especially,  even  in  the  time  of 
the  Grand  Roi,  when  Moliere  and  Corneille  were 
shining  in  al?  their  glory,  we  have  Moliere's  cor- 
roborating evidence  that  these  customs  had  not  been 
abolished.  Moliere  was  annoyed  by  the  same  mal- 
practices as  Shakespeare,  only  he  did  not,  like 
Shakespeare,  who  never  complained  of  anything  or 
anybody,  keep  his  displeasure  to  himself  He  recurs 
in  more  than  one  of  his  plays  to  the  indecent  behaviour 
of  marquesses  sitting  on  the  stage,  and  there  is  scarcely 
one  of  the  particulars  mentioned  by  Dekker  which 
does  not  find  place  in  Moliere's  angry  pictures  of 
ill-bred  gallants  : 

"  The  actors  began  ;  every  one  kept  silence  ;  when 
...  a  man  with  large  rolls  entered  abruptly  crying 
out :  '  Hulloa,  there,  a  seat  directly  ! '  and  disturbing 
the  audience  with  his  uproar,  interrupted  the  play  in 
its  finest  passage.  .  .  . 

"  Whilst  I  was  shrugging  my  shoulders,  the  actors 
attempted  to  continue  their  parts.  But  the  man  made 
a  fresh  disturbance  in  seating  himself,  and  again 
crossing  the  stage  with  long  strides,  although  he  might 
have  been  quite  comfortable  at  the  wings,  he  planted 
his  chair  full  in  front,  and,  defying  the  audience  with 


344  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

his   broad   back,  hid  the   actors  from  three-fourths  of 
the  pit. 

"  A  murmur  arose,  at  which  any  one  else  would  have 
felt  ashamed  ;  but  he,  firm  and  resolute,  took  no 
notice  of  it,  and  would  have  remained  just  as  he  had 
placed  himself  if,  to  my  misfortune,  he  had  not  cast  his 
eyes  on  me.  .  .  . 

"  He  began  asking  me  a  hundred  frivolous  questions, 
raising  his  voice  higher  than  the  actors.  Every  one 
was  cursing  him  ;  and  in  order  to  check  him,  I  said, 
*  I  should  like  to  listen  to  the  play.* 

*' '  Hast  thou  not  seen  it,  marquis  ?  Oh  !  on  my 
soul  I  think  it  very  funny,  and  I  am  no  fool  in  those 
matters.  I  know  the  canons  of  perfection  and  Corneille 
reads  me  all  that  he  writes.* 

'^  Thereupon  he  gave  me  a  summary  of  the  piece, 
informing  me,  scene  after  scene,  of  what  was  about 
to  happen  ;  and  when  we  came  to  any  lines  which  he 
knew  by  heart,  he  recited  them  aloud  before  the  actor 
could  say  them.  It  was  in  vain  for  me  to  resist  ;  he 
continued  his  recitations,  and  towards  the  end  rose  a 
good  while  before  the  rest.  For  those  fashionable 
fellows,  in  order  to  behave  gallantly,  especially  avoid 
to  listen  to  the  conclusion."  ^ 

Grobianism  and  the  picaresque  novel,  long  sur- 
vived both  Nash  and  Dekker.  English,  Spanish,  and 
French  rogues,  invented  or  imitated,  swarmed  in  the 
English  literature  of  the  seventeenth  century,  without, 
however,  in  any  case  reaching  the  level  attained 
by  "Jack  Wilton."     Both   kinds   of  writing    had    to 

^  "Les  Facheux,"'act  i.  sc.  i  (Van  Laun's  translation,  vol.  ii. 
P-  97)  »  ^f'  "  Critique  de  I'Ecole  des  Femmes,"  sc.  vi. 


THOMAS  NASH  AND  PICARESQUE  NOVEL.     345 

wait  for  the  time  of  Swift  and  Defoe  to  reach  their 
highest  point.  Defoe  has  left  the  best  examples  of  the 
picaresque  tale  extant  in  English  literature,  and  Swift 
revived  Grobianism  with  unparalleled  excellence  in  his 
"Directions  to  Servants"  and  his  "Complete  Collec- 
tion of  genteel  and  ingenious  conversation,  according 
to  the  most  polite  mode  and  method  now  used  at  court 
and  in  the  best  companies  of  England."  ^ 

As  for  the  "  Quinze  joyes,"  turned  also  into  English 
by  Dekker,  its  popularity  was  equally  great  in  Eng- 
land ;  a  new  and  different  translation  was  published 
in  the  seventeenth  century  and  had  several  editions. 
It  was  prefaced  with  a  note  "  to  the  Reader,"  in  which 
the  satirical  aims  of  the  author  in  this  study  of  woman's 
foibles  is  accentuated  by  a  tone  of  pretended  praise, 
savouring  of  Grobianism  and  anticipating  the  sort  of 
ridicule  which  was  to  be  relished  by  Pope  and  the 
critics  of  Queen  Anne's  time.  '*  This  treatise  .  .  .  will 
at  least  shake,  if  not  totally  explode,  that  common 
opinion,  viz.,  that  women  are  the  worst  piece  of  the 
Hexameron  creation.  .  .  .  This  is  the  composition  of 
some  amorous  person,  who,  animated  with  the  same 
spirit  and  affection  as  I  am,  hath  undertaken,  and 
judged  it  his  duty  too,  to  satisfie  you,  and  he  hopes  so 
far  as  to  work  upon  you  a  persuasion  that  the  modesty > 

^  The  connection  of  Swift  with  Grobianism  was  noticed  in  his 
time,  and  a  new  translation  of  Dedekind's  poem,  "  Grobianus  or 
the  compleat  Booby,"  1739,  was  dedicated  by  Roger  Bull  "  to  the 
Rev.  Dr.  Jonathan  Swift,  .  .  .  who  first  introduced  into  these 
kingdoms  ...  an  ironical  manner  of  writing,  to  the  discourage- 
ment of  vice,  ill-manners  and  folly."  To  come  to  even  nearer 
times,  Flaubert's  "Bouvart  et  Pecuchet"  maybe  taken  as  a  branch 
of  Grobianism. 


346 


THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 


bashfulness,  debonairete  and  civility,  together  with  all 
qualifications  that  adorn  and  beautifie  the  soul,  are  as 
exemplarily  eminent  in  women  of  this  age  as  ever  they 
were  in  any  of  the  former  ;  and  instruct  you  to  set  a 
value  on  their  actions  as  the  best  creatures  in  the  worst 
of  times,  whose  vertue  must  needs  shine  with  the 
greater  lustre,  being  subject  to  the  vain  assaults  and 
ineffectual  temptations  of  men  grown  old,  like  the 
times,  in  wickednes,  malice  and  revenge."  ^ 

^  *'  The  fifteen  comforts  of  rash  and  inconsiderate  marriage  .  .  . 
done  out  of  French,"  London,  1694,  i2mo,  fourth  edition. 


CAPRICORN  us. 


LiB^ 


UN 


5RSITY 


Hc]io6IHijardin 


KATHERINE     PHILIPS 

THE    MATCHLESS     ORINDA 
/horn  6/w  mexxvtinf  6y  Bb'CA'/:T7\ 


Imp  Willmann  Pans 


Jlayer 


tJti.S 


IIEROICAL    DEEDS    IN    A    HEROICAL    NOVEL,    1665. 


CHAPTER    VIL 


AFTER    SHAKESPEARE. 
I. 

IN  the  works  of  Nash  and  his  imitators,  the  diiFerent 
parts  are  badly  dovetailed  ;  the  novelist  is  in- 
coherent and  incomplete  ;  the  fault  lies  in  some 
degree  with  the  picaresque  form  itself.  Nash,  how- 
ever, pointed  out  the  right  road,  the  road  that  was  to 
lead  to  the  true  novel.  He  was  the  first  among  his 
compatriots  to  endeavour  to  relate  in  prose  a  long- 
sustained    story,  having    for    its    chief   concern  :     the 


348  THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL. 

truth.  He  leaves  to  his  real  heroes,  Surrey,  More, 
Erasmus,  Aretino,  their  historical  character,  and  he 
gives  to  his  fictitious  ones  caprices  and  qualities 
which  make  of  them  distinct  and  living  beings  like 
those  of  e very-day  life.  He  gives  us  no  more  languid 
shepherds,  no  more  romantic  disguises,  no  more  pre- 
tended warriors  whose  helmets  cover,  as  in  Ariosto, 
a  woman's  fair  locks.  His  style  is  flexible,  animated, 
suited  to  the  circumstances,  free  from  those  ornaments 
of  language  so  sought  after  in  his  time  ;  no  one, 
Ben  Jonson  excepted,  possessed  at  that  epoch,  in  so 
great  a  degree  as  himself,  a  love  of  the  honest  truth. 
With  Nash,  then,  the  novel  of  real  life,  whose  invention 
in  England  is  generally  attributed  to  Defoe,  begins. 
To  connect  Defoe  with  the,  past  of  English  literature, 
we  must  get  over  the  whole  of  the  seventeenth  century 
and  go  back  to  "  Jack  Wilton,"  the  worthy  brother  of 
"  Roxana,"  "  Moll  Flanders,"  and  "  Colonel  Jack." 

But  shepherds  were  not  yet  silenced,  nor  had 
romantic  heroes  spoken  their  last.  On  the  con- 
trary, their  best  time  was  still  to  come  ;  in  the 
seventeenth  century  they  resumed  their  hardly  inter- 
rupted speeches,  conversations,  correspondence,  exploits 
and  adventures,  and  flourished  mightily  in  the  world. 
We  come  to  the  time  of  the  heroic  romance  and 
heroic  drama.  The  main  originality  of  the  romance 
literature  in  England  during  this  century  was  the 
increase  and  over-refinement  of  heroism  in  works  of 
fiction.  For  many  among  the  reading  public  of  that 
age,  Shakespeare  was  barbarous  and  Racine  tame  ; 
but  Scudery  was  the  "greatest   wit  "that  ever  lived. 

This  kind  of  writing  was  thus    partially  renovated 


AFTER  SHAKESPEARE.  349 

through  certain  superadded  characteristics,  the  part 
allotted  to  "  heroism  '*  being  the  foremost  ;  but  the 
groundwork  was  as  old  as  the  very  origin  of  the  nation. 
For  this  new  species  of  novel  was  mainly  a  development 
of  the  old  chivalrous  romances  of  early  and  mediaeval 
times.  These  romances,  as  we  know,  had  continued  in 
Elizabethan  times  to  enjoy  some  reputation,  and  under 
an  altered  shape  to  have  a  public  of  their  own.  Even 
in  the  seventeenth  century  they  had  not  passed  entirely 
out  of  sight.  Palmerins,  Dons  Belianis  and  Esplandians 
continued  to  be  written,  translated,  adapted,  para- 
phrased, printed,  purchased,  and  read.  There  was  still 
a  brisk  trade  in  this  sort  of  literature.  People  con- 
tinued to  read  "  the  auncient,  famous  and  honourable 
history  of  Amadis  de  Gaule,  discoursing  the  adventures 
loves  and  fortunes  of  many  princes  ; "  ^  or  again  "  the 
famous  history  of  Hercules  of  Greece,  with  the  manner 
of  his  encountering  and  overcoming  serpents,  lyons, 
monsters,  giants,  tyrants  and  powerful  armies."  2  Guy 
of  Warwick,  our  friend  of  former  chapters,  still  carried 
on,  with  undaunted  energy,  his  manifold  exploits 
throughout  the  world.  Only,  as  time  passes,  we  find 
that  he  has  become  civilized  ;  he  has  taken  trouble 
to  improve  his  mind,  he  has  read  books  ;  he  has  even 
gone  to  the  play.  And  his  choice  shows  him  a  man 
of  taste  and  feeling ;  a  man  with  a  memory  too  ;  for 
reaching  a  cemetery  somewhere  in  his  travels  he  "  took 

^  London,  16 19,  foL,  translated  by  Anthony  Munday  (first 
edition  of  first  part,  1590,  4to).  Another  translation  of  the  same 
romance  was  made  by  F.  Kirkman,  and  published  in  1652,  4to. 

^  Advertised  by  Ch.  Bates  at  the  end  of  "  the  history  of  Guy 
earl  of  Warwick,"  London,  1680  (?),  4to  (illustrated). 

21 


350 


THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL, 


up  a  worm-eaten  skull,  which  he  thus  addressed  : 
Perhaps  thou  wert  a  prince  or  a  mighty  monarch,  a 
King,  a  Duke  or  a  Lord.  But  the  King  and  the 
beggar  must  all  return  to  the  earth ;  and  therefore 
man  hath  need  to  remember  his  dying  hour.  Perhaps 
thou  mightest  have  been  a  Queen  or  a  Dutchess,  or  a 
Lady  varnished  with  much  beauty  ;  but  now  thou  art 
worms  meat,  lying  in  the  grave,  the  sepolchre  of  all 
creatures."     We  are  only  surprised   that  "  Alas   poor 


SIR  GUY  OF  WARWICK  ADDRESSING  A  SKULL. 


Yorick  "  does  not  come  in.  The  page  is  beautifully 
adorned  with  an  engraving  representing  Sir  Guy  in 
cocked  hat,  addressing  a  skull  he  carries  in  his  hand.^ 
The  same  phenomenon  was  taking  place  in  France, 
and  from  France  were  to  come  the  first  examples  of 
the  regular  heroic  romance.  "  I  have  read  [Lancelot]  " 
says  Sarasin,  in  a  conversation  reported  by  the  well- 
known  Jean  Chapelain,  the  author  of  "  La  Pucelle," 
and  "  I  have  not  found  it  too  unpleasant.  Among  the 
things  that   have  pleased  me  in  it  I  found  that  it  was 

^  From  a  chap-book  of  the  eighteenth   century  :  *'  History  of 
Guy  earl  of  Warwick,"  i75o(?) 


AFTER  SHAKESPEARE. 


351 


the  source  of  all  the  romances  which  for  four  or  ^y^ 
■centuries  have  been  the  noblest  entertainment  of  all 
the  courts  of  Europe  and  have  prevented  barbarism 
from  encompassing  the  whole  world."  ^  But  as  well 
as  Guy  of  Warwick,  Lancelot  wanted  some  "  rajeunisse- 
ment."  His  valour  was  still  the  fashion,  but  his 
manners,  after  so  many  centuries,  and  his  dress  too, 
^were  a  little  out  of  date.  The  new  heroism  was  to 
pervade  the  whole  man,  and,  in  order  to  make  him 
acceptable,  to  influence  his  costume  as  well  as  his  mind. 


BURIAL   OF   SIR   GUY   OF  WARWICK. 


There  was  to  be  something  Roman  in  him,  and  some- 
thing French  ;  he  was  to  be  represented  in  the  style 
of  Louis  the  Fourteenth's  statues,  where  the  monarch 
appears  in  a  Roman  tunic  and  a  French  wig. 

The  transformation  occurred  first  in  France,  and  was 
received  with  great  applause.  The  times  indeed  were 
most  propitious  for  a  display,  not  of  the  barbaric 
Jieroism  of  olden  times,  but  of  courtly  heroism  ;  of  an 

^  "De  la  Lecture  des  vieux  romans,"  by  Jean  Chapelain,  ed. 
JFeillet,  Paris,  1870,  8vo. 


352  THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL. 

heroism  which  plumes,  wigs  and  ribbons  well  fitted^ 
and  which,  with  scarcely  any  change,  could  be  transferred 
from  the  battle-field  to  the  drawing-room,  from  Rocroy 
to  the  Hotel  de  Rambouillet  :  no  mean  heroism,  how- 
ever, for  all  its  ribbons.  At  this  period,  in  France, 
manly  and  lofty  virtues,  as  well  as  worldly  ones,  were 
worshipped  in  life,  in  literature  and  in  art.  From  the 
commencement  to  the  end  of  the  century,  examples 
of  undoubted  heroes  were  not  lacking  ;  Henri  IV., 
Richelieu,  Mme.  de  Longueville,  Conde,  Louis  XIV., 
Turenne,  now  by  their  good  qualities,  now  by  their 
caprices,  now  by  their  deeds  and  now  by  their  looks, 
resembled  heroes  of  romance,  and  popularized  in 
France  an  ideal  of  nobleness  and  greatness.  In  order 
to  please  and  to  be  admired,  it  was  necessary  to  show 
a  lofty  character  ;  men  must  be  superior  to  fortune,, 
and  women  must  appear  superior  to  the  allurements 
of  passion  ;  the  hero  made  a  display  of  magnanimity, 
the  heroine  of  chastity.  The  hero  won  the  battle  of 
Fribourg,  and  the  heroine  had  Montausier  to  pay  court 
to  her  for  thirteen  years  before  she  consented  to  be 
united  to  him  in  the  bonds  of  wedlock.  Such  were 
the  persons  most  admired  in  real  life  ;  such  were  the 
characters  of  romance  and  tragedy  whom  the  public 
liked  best,  without,  however,  distinguishing  between 
them.  The  Cid,  Alceste,  Artaban,  Nicomede,  as  well 
as  Julie  d'Angennes,  Montausier  and  Conde,  were  all 
members  of  the  same  family,  and  not  any  one  of  them 
more  than  another  appeared  comic  or  ridiculous  :  that 
is  why  Montausier  was  very  far  from  being  offended 
that  traits  of  the  character  of  Alceste  were  thought 
to    be    found    in    him,    and    that     is    why   Mme.    de 


AFTER  SHAKESPEARE.  353 

Sevigne,  a  passionate  admirer  of  Corneille,  becomes 
as  honestly  enthusiastic  over  the  extravagant  heroes  of 
the  new  romances  as  over  those  of  the  great  Cornelian 
tragedies.  "1  am  mad  for  Corneille  ;  everything  must 
yield  to  his  genius  .  .  .  My  daughter,  let  us  take  good 
care  not  to  compare  Racine  with  him.  Let  us  feel 
the  difference  !  "  ^  She  writes  elsewhere  with  regard 
to  the  heroes  of  La  Calprenede :  "  The  beauty  of  the 
sentiments,  the  violence  of  the  emotions,  the  grandeur 
of  the  incidents  and  the  miraculous  success  of  their  in- 
vincible swords,  all  that  delights  me  like  a  young  girl."^ 
This  change,  which  consisted,  not  of  course  in  the 
introduction  of  heroism  into  novels,  where  it  had 
in  all  times  found  place,  but  in  the  magnifying,  to 
an  extraordinary  degree,  of  this  source  of  interest, 
and  in  a  transformation  of  costume  and  of  tone  of 
speech,  appeared  not  only  in  romances,  but  in  the 
drama  also,  and  even  in  history.  Everything  worthy 
of  attention  was  for  many  years  to  be  heroical. 
Heroes  defy  earth  and  heaven  ;  they  do  not,  like 
Aucassin,  with  a  temper  of  ironical  submission,  give 
up    Paradise  in  the  hope    of  joining    Nicolete  in  the 

^  Edition  of  the  "  Grands  Ecrivains  de  la  France,"  vol.  ii.  pp. 
529  and  535. 

2  i2th  July,  1671,  "  Grands  Ecrivains,"  vol.  ii.  p.  277.  A  few- 
days  before,  on  the  5th,  she  had  been  writing  :  "  Je  suis  revenue 
a  '  Cleopatre  '  .  .  .  et  par  le  bonheur  que  j'ai  de  n'avoir  point 
de  memoire,  cette  lecture  me  divertit  encore.  Cela  est  epouvan- 
table,  mais  vous  savez  que  je  ne  m'accommode  guere  bien  de  toutes 
les  pruderies  qui  ne  me  sont  pas  naturelles,  et  comme  celle  de 
ne  pas  aimer  ces  livres  la  ne  m'est  pas  encore  entierement  arrivee, 
je  me  laisse  divertir  sous  le  pretexte  de  mon  fils  qui  m'a  mise  en 
train." 


354  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

nether  world ;  they  make  the  nether  world  itself 
tremble  on  its  foundations  :  for  nothing  can  resist 
them.  Even  in  serious  historical  works  the  old 
rulers  of  the  French  nation  appear  under  an  heroical 
garb.  King  Clovis  is  tlius  described  by  Scipion 
Dupleix,  historiographer  royal,  in  his  "  Histoire 
Generale  de  France,"  1634 :  "  The  hour  of  Easter-eve 
at  which  the  King  was  to  receive  the  baptism  at  the 
hands  of  St.  Remy  having  come,  he  appeared  with  a 
proud  countenance,  a  dignified  gait,  a  majestic  port, 
very  richly  dressed,  musked  and  powdered  ;  his  flowing 
wig  was  curiously  combed,  curled,  frizzed,  undulated 
and  perfumed,  according  to  the  custom  of  the  old 
french  Kings  ; "  ^  but  much  more  it  seems  according 
to  the  custom  of  less  ancient  sovereigns  ;  and  there 
is  at  the  Louvre,  a  portrait  of  Louis  XIII.  bare-legged,, 
periwigged,  ermine-cloaked,  which  corresponds  far  better 
to  this  description  than  anything  we  know  of  Clovis. 

The  same  characteristics  appear  in  the  epic  and  the 
drama.  Antoine  de  Montchrestien,  besides  having 
written  the  earliest  treatise  of  political  economy,  and 
thus  having  stood,  if  nothing  more,  godfather  to  a 
new  science,^  wrote  a  number  of  plays,  flavoured 
most  of  them  with  a  grandiloquence  and  heroism  which 
give   us    a   foretaste   of  Dryden.      In  his  "  Aman   ou 

^  "  L'heure  de  la  veille  de  Pasques,  a  laquelle  le  Roy  devoit 
recevoir  le  baptesme  de  la  main  de  S.  Remy  estant  venue,  il 
s'y  presenta  avec  une  contenance  relevee,  une  demarche  grave,, 
un  port  majestueux,  tres  richement  vestu,  musque,  poudre,  la 
perruque  pendante,  curieusement  peignee,  gaufFree,  ondoiante, 
crespee  et  parfumee,  selon  la  coustume  des  anciens  rois  Fran9ois  '*' 
("  Histoire  Generale  de  France,"  Paris,  1634,  vol.  i.  p.  58). 

2  "  Traicte  de  I'Economie  politique,"  Rouen,  161 5,  4to. 


AFTER  SHAKESPEARE.  355 

la  vanlte/'  he  treats  the  same  subject  as  Racine  in  his 
"  Esther,"  but  he  has  nothing  in  common  with  his 
successor,  and  much  with  the  dramatists  of  the  heroical 
school.  In  order,  doubtless,  to  justify  from  the  first 
the  title  of  the  play,  Aman  indulges  his  "vanite"  in  an 
opening  monologue  to  the  following  effect  : 

"  Whether  fair  Phoebus  coming  out  of  the  hollow 
waters  brings  back  colour  to  the  face  of  the  world, 
whether  with  his  warmer  rays  he  sets  day  ablaze  or 
departs  to  take  his  rest  in  his  watery  bower,  he  cannot 
see  in  all  the  inhabited  world  a  single  man  to  be 
compared  with  me  for  successes  of  any  sort.  My  glory 
is  without  peer,  and  if  any  of  the  gods  were  to  ex- 
change heaven  for  earth  and  dwell  under  the  lunar 
disc,  he  would  content  himself  with  such  a  brilliant 
fortune  as  mine."  ^ 

Nearly  all  the  dramas  of  Scudery  are  made  up  of 
such  speeches,  and  they  were  the  rage  in  Paris  before 
Corneille  arose,  Corneille  in  whom  something  of  this 
style  yet  lingers.  Each  of  Scudery 's  heroes,  be  it  in 
his    dramas,   in  his   epics,  in  his  romances,  is  like  his 

^  "Soit  que  le  blond  Phoebus,  sortant  du  creux  de  Tonde 
Vienne  recolorer  le  visage  du  monde ; 
Soit  quede  rays  plus  chauds  il  enflame  le  jour, 
Ou  qu'il  s'aille  coucher  en  I'humide  sejour, 
II  ne  void  un  seul  homme  en  ce  monde  habitable 
Qui  soit  en  tout  bon-heur  avec  moi  comparable  : 
Ma  gloire  est  sans  pareille,  et  si  quelqu'un  des  Dieux 
Vouloit  faire  a  la  terre  un  eschange  des  cieux, 
Et  venir  habiter  sous  le  rond  de  la  lune, 
II  se  contenteroitde  ma  belle  fortune." 

"Aman  ou  la  vanite";  "Tragedies  d'Antoine  de  Mont- 
chrestien,"  Rouen,  1601,  8vo. 


356  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

Alaric,  nothing  less  than  "  le  vainqueur  des  vainqueurs 
de  la  terre  " ;  and  having  conquered  all  the  world  is  in 
his  turn  conquered  by  Love.  To  write  thus  was  sup- 
posed to  be  following  the  noble  impulse  given  by  the 
Renaissance,  to  be  Roman,  to  outdo  Seneca. ^ 

In  the  novel  especially  this  style  shone  in  all  its 
lustre  and  beauty.  All  the  heroes  of  the  interminable 
romances  of  the  time,  by  Gomberville,  George  and 
Madeleine  de  Scudery,  La  Calprenede  and  many  others, 
be  they  Greek,  Roman,  Turk  or  French,  are  all  of 
them  the  conquerors  of  the  world  and  the  captives  of 
Love.  "  I  can  scarcely  believe,"  wrote  wise  censors, 
"that  the  Cyrus  and  the  Alexanders  have  suddenly 
become,  as  I  hear  it  reported,  so  many  Thyrsis  and 
Celadons."  2  But  their  protests  were  of  no  avail,  for 
a  time,  and  romance  heroes  continued  to  reign  in 
France,  having  had  from  the  first  for  their  palace  and 
chief  place  of  resort  the  famous  Hotel  de  Rambouillet. 

^  "  Outre  qu'on  m'a  vu  naistre  avec  une  couronne, 
La  fortune  qui  m'aime  est  celle  qui  les  donne, 
Et  sans  prendre  la  leur,  ce  bras  a  le  pouvoir 
De  m'en  acquerir  cent,  si  je  les  veux  avoir. 
Mais  soufFrez  mon  discours,  il  est  pour  votre  gloire  ; 
Je  suy,  je  suy  I'Amour  et  non  pas  la  Victoire." 
("L'amour  tirannique,"  1640.     Speech  by  Tiridate.) 

"  Je  tiens  en  mon  pouvoir  les  sceptres  et  la  mort ; 
Je  t'arracherais  Tun,  je  te  donnerais  Fautre  .  .  . 
Mais  j'ay  cette  faiblesse,"  &c.      ("  Ibrahim,"  1645.) 

2  Boileau,  "Les  heros  de  romans,  dialogue  a  la  maniere  de 
Lucien,"  written  in  1664,  published  171 3,  but  well  known  before 
in  literary  drawing-rooms,  where  Boileau  used  himself  to  read  it 
aloud. 


AFTER  SHAKESPEARE,  357 

This  hotel  had  been  building  from  16 10  to  16 17  in 
the  Rue  St.Thomas-du-Louvre.  Polite  society  began 
to  gather  there  soon  after  its  completion,  and  began  to 
desert  it  only  thirty  years  later.  The  heroic  romances 
of  the  period  were  among  the  chief  topics  of  conversa- 
tion ;  and  this  is  easily  understood  :  they  were  meant 
as  copies  of  this  same  polite  society,  and  of  its  chiefs  ; 
under  feigned  names  people  recognized  in  Cyrus  the 
Grand  Conde  ;  in  Mandane,  Madame  de  Longueville  ; 
in  Sapho,  the  authoress  herself,  Mdlle.  de  Scudery  ; 
in  Aristhee,  the  poet  Jean  Chapelain.  Persons  thus 
designated  often  continued  in  real  life  to  be  called  by 
their  romance  appellations  ;  thus  Madame  de  Sevigne 
is  wont  to  subscribe  herself  "  the  very  humble  servant 
of  the  adorable  Amalthee."  ^  Men  and  women  con- 
sidered it  a  great  honour  to  have  their  portraits  in  a 
romance  ;  they  felt  sure  then  of  going  down  to  the 
remotest  posterity,  a  fond  belief  to  which  posterity 
has  already  given  the  lie.  Much  intrigue  went  on  to 
obtain  such  a  valuable  favour.  While  we  are  scarcely 
able  now  to  plod  on  for  a  few  chapters  along  the 
winding  road  which  led  Cyrus  to  his  victories,  these 
volumes  were  awaited  with  intense  interest  and  dis- 
cussed with  passion  as  soon  as  published.  Neither  the 
expectation  of  the  next  number  of  the  ''  Revue  des 
deux  Mondes,"  when  it  contains  some  important  new 
study  of  actual  life,  nor  the  discussion  about  the  last 
play  of  Dumas,  can  give  us  now  an  adequate  idea  of 
the  amount  of  interest  concentrated  in  Paris  at  that 


^  I.e.^   Mme.  du   Plessis    Guenegaud,  who  figures   in    "  Clelie 
under  this  name.      "Letter  to  Pompone,  Nov.  18,  1664." 


358  THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL. 

time    upon    those  heroical,   grandiloquent,  periwigged- 
figures. 

And  sometimes  it  was  a  very  long  time  before  the 
end   of  the  adventures,  and  the  answers  of  the  lovers- 
were  known.     These  books  were  not  written  without 
care  and    thought    and  some    attention    to  rules   and 
style.     In  the  preface  to   his  *'  Ibrahim  "  Scudery  gives, 
us  a  sort  of  "Ars  poetica"  for  heroic  romance  writers  ;. 
he  states  what  precepts  it  is  necessary  to  follow,  and  those 
which  may  sometimes  be  dispensed  with ;  he  informs  us. 
that   attention   is   to  be  paid  to  the  truth  of  history, 
and   that   manners    must   be  observed.     For  example,, 
in  '^  Ibrahim"  he  has  thought  fit  to  use  some  Turkish 
words,    such    as    "  Alia,    Stambol  "  ;    these    he    calls. 
-*'  historical  marks,"  and  they  correspond  to  what  goes 
now  under  the    name  of  local   colour  ;    according  to 
his  way  of  thinking  they  give  a  realistic  appearance  to- 
his  story.     His  heroes  in  this  particular  romance  are- 
not   kings,   he   confesses  ;    his  excuse  is  that  they  are 
worthy  to  be  such,  and  that  besides  they  belong  to  very 
good  families.     He  has  been  careful  to  use  an  easy,, 
flowing    style,    and    to    avoid    bombast    ''  except    in 
speeches."     He  has  something  to  say  about  the  unities,, 
which    have    their    part    to    play    even    in    romances. 
Nothing  must  be  left  to  chance  in  those  works  ;  and 
as   for    himself,  he    would    have  refused,  he    declares,, 
the  praise  bestowed  upon  the  Greek  painter  who,  by 
throwing  his  brush  against  his  work,  obtained  thus  the 
finest  effect  in  his  picture.     In  Scudery 's  picture  every- 
thing is  drawn  with  a  will  and  a  purpose,  everything  is 
the  result  of  thought  and  calculation,  and,  if  we  are  to 
believe   him,  much  art  was  thus  spent  by  the  gallant 


AFTER  SHAKESPEARE.  361 

Gouverneur  de  Nostre  Dame  ;  much  art  that  is  now 
entirely  concealed  from  the  dim  eyes  of  posterity.  ^ 

Speeches,  with  descriptions,  letters  (which  are  always 
given  in  full  as  if  they  were  documents  of  state), 
conversations  and  incidental  anecdotic  stories,  were 
among  the  most  usual  means  employed  to  fill  up 
the  many  volumes  of  an  ordinary  heroical  romance. 
For  the  volumes  were  many  :  ''  There  never  shone 
such  a  fine  day  as  the  one  which  was  to  be  the  eve  of 
the  nuptials  between  the  illustrious  Aronce  and  the 
admirable  Clelie."  Such  is  the  beginning  of  the  first 
volume  of  "  Clelie,  histoire  romaine,"  by  Madeleine  de 
Scudery,  published  in  January,  1649.  It  happens  that 
the  marriage  thus  announced  is  delayed  by  certain  little 
incidents,  and  is  only  celebrated  towards  the  end  of  the 
tenth  and  last  volume  pubhshed  in  September,  1654. 
Volume  I.  contained  the  famous  "  Carte  du  Tendre,"  to 
show  the  route  from  "  Nouvelle  amitie  "  to  "  Tendre," 
with  its  various  rivers,  its  villages  of  "  Tendre-sur- 
Inclination,"  "  Tendre-sur-Estime,"  with  the  ever-to-be- 
avoided  hamlets  of  Indiscretion  and  Perfidy,  the  Lake 
of  Indifl^erence  and  other  frightful  countries.  Let  us 
turn  away  from  them  and  go  back  to  our  heroes. 

One  of  their  chief  pleasures  was  to  tell  their  own 
stories.  Of  this  neither  they  nor  their  listeners  were 
ever  tired.  Whenever  in  the  course  of  the  tale  a  new 
person  is  introduced,  the  first  thing  he  is  expected  to^ 
do  is  to  tell  us  who  he  is  and  what  he  has  seen  of  the 
world.  Sometimes  stories  are  included  in  his  own,  and 
when  the  first  are  finished,  instead  of  taking  up  again 

^  Scudery's  preface  to  "Ibrahim,  or  the  illustrious  bassa  .  .  . 
englished  by  Henry  Cogan,"  London,  1652,  fol. 


.362  THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL. 

the  thread  of  the  main  tale,  we  merely  resume  the 
hearing  of  the  speaker's  own  adventures :  a  custom 
Avhich  sometimes  proves  very  puzzling  to  the  in- 
attentive frivolous  reader  of  to-day.  As  for  the 
supposed  listeners  in  the  tale  itself,  the  men  or  women 
the  hero  has  secured  for  his  audience,  they  well  knew 
what  to  expect,  and  took  their  precautions  accordingly. 
We  sometimes  see  them  go  to  bed  in  order  to  listen 
more  comfortably.  In  "  Cassandre,"  the  eunuch  Tireus 
has  a  story  to  tell  to  Prince  Oroontades  :  "  The  prince 
went  to  his  bedroom  and  put  himself  to  bed ;  he  then 
had  Tireus  called  to  him,  and  having  seats  placed  in 
the  ruelky  he  commanded  us  to  sit,"  and  then  the  story 
begins  ;  and  it  goes  on  for  pages  ;  and  when  it  is 
finished  we  observe  that  it  was  included  in  another 
story  told  by  Araxe  ;  wherefore,  instead  of  finding  our- 
selves back  among  the  actors  of  the  principal  tale,  we 
alight  only  among  those  in  Araxe's  narrative.  ^  These 
stories  are  thus  enclosed  in  one  another  like  Chinese 
boxes. 

II. 

This  literature  as  soon  as  imported  into  England 
realized  there  the  most  complete  success.  To  find 
a  parallel  for  it  we  must  go  back  to  the  time  when 
mediaeval  Lancelot  and  Tristan  were  sung  of  by 
French  singers,  and  afterwards  by  singers  of  all 
countries.  Cyrus  and  Mandane,  Oroontades  and 
Tireus,  Grand  Scipio  and  Illustrious  Bassa,  Astree  and 
Celadon,  our  heroes  and  our  shepherds  once  more  began 

^  "  Cassandre,"'  vol.  i.  book  v. 


AFTER  SHAKESPEARE.  365 

the  invasion  and  conquest  of  the  great  northern  island. 
As  was  to  be  expected  from  such  unparalleled  con- 
querors, they  accomplished  this  feat  easily,  and  their 
work  had  consequences  in  England  for  which  France 
can  scarcely  offer  any  perfect  equivalent.  Through 
their  exertions  there  arose  in  this  country  a  dramatic 
literature  in  the  heroical  style  which,  thanks  especially 
to  Dryden,  has  still  a  literary  interest.  But  in  France 
our  heroes  of  fiction  were  curtailed  of  much  of  their 
glory  by  the  inexorable  Boileau.  They  left,  it  is  true, 
some  trace  of  their  influence  in  the  works  of  Corneille 
and  even  of  Racine,  but  the  heroic  drama,  properly  so 
called,  was  restricted  to  the  works  of  the  Scuderys  and 
Montchrestiens,  which  is  saying  enough  to  imply  that 
it  was  not  meant  to  survive  very  long. 

During  the  greater  part  of  the  century  French 
romances  were  in  England  the  main  reading  of  people 
who  had  leisure.  They  were  read  in  the  original,  for 
French  was  a  current  language  in  society  at  that  time, 
and  they  were  read  in  translations  both  by  society  and 
by  the  ordinary  public.  Most  of  them  were  rendered 
into  English,  and  so  important  were  these  works  con- 
sidered that  sometimes  several  translators  tried  their  skill 
at  the  same  romance,  and  published  independently  the 
result  of  their  labours,  as  if  their  author  had  been 
Virgil  or  Ariosto,  or  any  classical  writer.  French 
ideas  in  the  matter  of  novels  were  adopted  so  cordially 
that  not  only  under  Charles  I.,  but  even  during  the 
civil  war  and  under  Cromwell  this  rage  for  reading 
and  translating  did  not  abate.  The  contrary,  it  is 
true,  has  often  been  asserted,  without  inquiry,  and  as 
a    matter  of  course  ;  but  this  erroneous   statement  was 


^64  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

due  to  a  mere  a  'priori  argument,  and  had  no  other 
ground  than  the  improbability  of  the  same  fashion 
predominating  in  the  London  of  the  Roundheads  and 
the  Paris  of  the  Precieuses.  What  likelihood  was 
there  of  any  popularity  being  bestowed  upon  heroes 
who  were  nothing  if  not  befeathered  heroes,  heroes 
a  panaches  at  a  time  when  Puritans  reigned  supreme, 
staunch  adversaries  as  we  know  of  panaches^  curls,  vain 
talk,  and  every  sort  of  worldly  vanity  ?  Was  it  not 
the  time  when  books  were  published  on  *'  The  un- 
lovelinesse  of  Love-lockes,"  being  "  a  summarie  dis- 
•course  prooving  the  wearing  anu  nourishing  of  a  locke 
or  love-locke  to  be  altogether  unseemely,  and  un- 
lawfiill  unto  Christians.  In  which  there  are  likewise 
some  passages  collected  out  of  Fathers,  Councells  and 
sundry  authors  and  historians  against  face-painting,  the 
wearing  of  supposititious,  poudred,  frizled  or  extra- 
ordinary long  haire,  the  inordinate  affectation  of 
corporall  beautie,  and  womens  mannish,  unnaturall, 
impudent,  and  unchristian  cutting  of  their  haire"  ?  ^ 
So  early  in  the  century  as  1628  it  was  thus  discovered 
that  women's  short  hair  and  men's  long  wigs  were 
-equally  unchristian.  What  was  to  be  the  fate  of  our 
well-curled  heroes?  They  were  received  with  open 
arms.  *'  Polexandre,"  for  example,  was  published  in 
English  in  1647;  "Ibrahim  ou  Tillustre  Bassa," 
"  Cassandre,"  and  "  Cleopatre  "  in  1652  ;  ''  Le  Grand 
Cyrus"  in  1653,  the  very  year  in  which  Cromwell 
became  Protector  ;  the  first  part  of  "  Clelie "  in 
.1656  ;  *'Astree"  in  1657  ;  "  Scipion  "  in  1660,  &c. 
The  English  prefaces  to  these  French  novels  plainly 
^  By  William  Prynne,  London,  1628,  410. 


AFTER  SHAKESPEARE.  365 

-showed  that,  notwithstanding  the  puritanical  taunts  of 
the  party  in  power,  publishers  felt  no  doubt  as  to  the 
success  of  their  undertaking.  These  works  were  not 
spread  timidly  among  the  public  ;  they  were  announced 
noisily  in  the  most  pompous  terms  : 

"  I  shall  waste  no  time  to  tell  you  how  this  book 
hath  sold  in  France  where  it  was  born  :  since  nothing 
falls  from  Monsieur  de  Scudery's  hand,  but  is  received 
there  as  an  unquestionable  piece,  by  all  that  have  a 
taste  of  wit  or  honour.  The  translator  hath  inserted 
no  false  stitches  of  his  own,  having  only  turn'd  the 
wrong  side  of  the  Arras  towards  us,  for  all  translations, 
you  know,  are  no  other."  ^ 

The  translator  of  "  Astree "  was  fain  to  inform  his 
readers  of  a  judgment  passed,  as  he  pretends,  on  this 
work  by  "  the  late  famous  Cardinall  of  Richelieu. 
That  he  was  not  to  be  admitted  in  the  Academy  of 
wit  who  had  not  been  before  well  read  in  Astrea." 
And  he  claims  for  his  author  a  highly  beneficial 
purpose,  that  could  be  condemned  by  none  except  ob- 
durate Puritans  :  "  These  are  the  true  designs  and  ends 
of  works  of  this  nature  :  these  are  academies  for  the 
lover,  schools  of  war  for  the  soldier,  and  cabinets  for 
the  statesman  ;  they  are  the  correctives  of  passion,  the 
restoratives  of  conversation,  ...  in  a  word,  the  most 
delightful  accommodations  of  civill  life."  2 

^  Preface  to  "Artamenes,  or  the  Grand  Cyrus,"  London,  1653- 
1654,  five  vols.  fol. 

"^  "  Astrea  .  .  .  translated  by  a  person  of  quality,"  i.e.^  J. 
D[avies  ?],  London,  1657-8,  3  vols.  fol.  ;  prefaces  to  vols,  i  and  ii. 
Dramas  with  their  plots  taken  from  "Astree"  were  written  in 
England  and  in  France,  such  as  "  Tragi-comedie  pastorale  ou  les 


366  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

Another  goes  so  far  as  to  give  the  lie  direct  to  the 
Puritans,  to  *'  those  morose  persons "  who  condemn 
novels  ;  in  truth,  "  delight  is  the  least  advantage  re- 
dounding from  such  compositions."  French  romances 
(which  seem  to  have  altered  somewhat  in  this  respect) 
are  nothing  but  a  school  of  morality,  generosity,  and 
self-restraint :  "  Not  to  say  anything  concerning  the 
ground  work  which  is  generally  some  excellent  piece 
of  ancient  history  accurately  collected  out  of  the 
records  of  the  most  eminent  writers  of  old,  .  .  .  the 
addition  of  fictitious  adventures  is  so  ingenious,  the 
incident  discourses  so  handsome,  free  and  fitted  for 
the  improvement  of  conversation  (which  is  not  un~ 
deservedly  accounted  of  great  importance  to  the 
contentment  of  human  life),  the  descriptions  of  the 
passions  so  lively  and  naturally  set  forth  ;  yea  the 
idea  of  virtue,  generosity  and  all  the  qualifications- 
requisite  to  accomplish  great  persons  so  exquisitely 
delineated  that  ...  I  must  speak  it,  though  I  believe 
with  the  envy  and  regret  of  many,  that  [the  French] 
have  approved  themselves  the  best  teachers  of  a  noble 
and  generous  morality  that  are  to  be  met  with."  ^ 

Sometimes  both  the  engravings  and  the  story  were 
imported  from  France.  As  the  illustrations  to  Har- 
ington's  translation  of  "  Ariosto  "  had  been  originally 
made  by  an  Italian  artist,  so  now  French  engravings 
began  to  be  popularized  in  England.     For  example, 

amours  d'Astree  .  .  .  par  le  Sieur  de  Rayssiguier,"  Paris,  1632, 
8vo .;  "  Astrea,  or  true  love's  mirrour,  a  pastoral,"  by  Leonard 
Willan,  London,  165 1,  8vo. 

^  '*  The  Grand  Scipio  ...  by  Monsieur  de  Vaumoriere^ 
rendered  into  English  by  G.  H.,"  London,  1660,  fol. 


E.NDYMION    I'LUNGED    INTO    THE    RIVER    IX    THE    PRESENCE   OV    DIANA. 

{French  Engraving  used  in  an  English  hook.)  [p.  367. 


AFTER  SHAKESPEARE.  369 

when  a  translation  appeared  of  *'  Endimion,"  the 
curious  mythological  novel  of  Gombauld,  with  its 
pleasant  descriptions  and  incidents,  half  dreamy,  half 
real,  the  plates  from  drawings  by  C.  de  Pas  were 
sent  over  to  England  and  used  in  the  English  edition. 
Sometimes,  too,  the  English  copies  had  original  plates 
or  engraved  titles ;  but  even  in  these  the  French 
style  was  usually  apparent.  Robert  Loveday,  who 
translated  La  Calprenede's  "  Cleopatre,"  prefaces  his 
book  with  one  such  plate ;  and  it  is  curious  to  notice 
when  reading  his  published  correspondence  that  the 
engraving  was  made  according  to  his  own  minute 
directions.  The  bookseller  '*  ofFer'd  to  be  at  the  charge 
of  cutting  my  own  face  for  the  frontispiece,  but  I 
refused  his  offer."  As,  however,  the  publisher  insisted 
on  having  something,  "  I  design'd  him  this  which  is 
now  a-cutting :  Upon  an  altar  dedicated  to  Love, 
divers  hearts  transfixd  with  arrows  and  darts  are  to 
lye  broiling  upon  the  coals  ;  and  upon  the  steps  of  it, 
Hymen  ...  in  a  posture  as  if  he  were  going  to  light 
[his  taper]  to  the  altar  ;  when  Cupid  is  to  come 
behind  him  and  pull  him  by  the  saffron  sleeve,  with 
these  words  proceeding  from  his  mouth  :  Nondum 
peracta  sunt  prasludia  "  ;  ^  a  statement  that  is  only  too 
true  and  in  which  Loveday  summarizes  unawares  the 
truest  criticism  levelled  at  these  romances.  You  may 
read  volume  after  volume,  and  still  "  nondum  peracta 
sunt  praeludia,"  you  have  not  yet  done  with  pre- 
liminaries. 

But  this  constant  delaying  of  an  event,  sometimes 

^  "Loveday's  letters,  domestick  and  foreign,"  seventh  impression, 
London,  1684,  8vo,  p.  146  (first  edition  1659). 


370  THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL. 

announced,  as  in  "  Clelie,"  at  the  top  of  the  first  page, 
was  not  in  the"  least  displeasing  to  seventeenth-century 
readers.  '  The  lengthy  episodes,-  the  protracted  con- 
versations, enchanted  them  ;  it  was  an  age  when 
conversation  was  at  its  height  in  France,  and  from 
France  the  taste  spread  to  other  countries;  Translators, 
as  we  have  seen,  expressly  mentioned  as  an  attraction 
in 'their  books  the  help  they  would  give  to  conversa- 
tion. .  Numberless  examples  of  this  polite  pastime  are 
provided  in  the  heroic  romances  ;  in  "  Almahide,  or 
the  Captive  Queen,"  ^  among  others,  we  read  discus- 
sions :as  to  whether  it  is  better  for  a  man  to  court 
a  lady  in  verse  or  in  prose,  whether  an  illiterate  lover  is 
better  than  a  learned  one,  &c.,  &c. 

Such  topics,  and  many  more  of  a  higher  order, 
which  •> were  the  subject  of  persistent  debate  in  the 
drawing-rooms  of  the  Hotel  de  Rambouillet,  were  also 
discussed  in  England ;  there  was,  it  is  true,  no  Hotel 
de  Rambouillet,  but  there  was  the  house  of  the  Philips 
at  Cardigan.  There  was  no  Marquise,  but  there  was 
Catherine  Philips,  the  "  matchless  Orinda,"  who  did 
much  to  acclimatize  in  England  the  refinements, 
elegancies,  and  heroism  a  panache  of  her  French  neigh- 

^  Bv  Scudery,  translated  by  J.  Philips,  London,  1677,  fol. 
part  ii.  bk.  ii.  p.  166.  Books  entirely  made  up  of  "conversations" 
were  published  by  Mdlle.  de  Scudery,  treating  of  pleasures,  of 
passions,  of  the  knowledge  of  others  and  of  ourselves,  &c.  They 
read  yery,  much  like  dialogued  essays;  and  it  is  interesting  to 
compare  them  with  Addison's  essays  which  treat  sometimes  of  the 
same  subjects.  They  were  received  with  great  applause  ; 
Madame  de  Sevigne  highly  praises  them.  They  were  translated 
into  English :  "  Conversations  upon  several  subjects,  .  .  .  done  into 
English  by  F.  Spence,"  London,  1683,  2  vol.  izmo. 


imilM'Miiimiil'HIiwninMil 


"hymen's  pr.^ludia."  [p.  371. 

{Frontispiece  of  the  translation  of  La  Calprenede's  *'  Cleopatre.'') 


AFTER  SHAKESPEARE.  373 

l)Ours.  With  the  help  of  her  friends  she  translated 
some  of  the  plays  of  Corneille,  not  without  adding 
something  to  the  original  to  make  it  look  more 
heroical.  The  little  society  gathered  round  her  imi- 
tated the  feigned  names  bestowed  upon  the  habitues 
of  the  Parisian  hotel.  While  she  went  by  the  name  of 
Orinda,  plain  Mr.  Philips,  her  husband,  was  re-baptized 
Antenor  ;  her  friend  Sir  Charles  Cotterel,  translator  of 
'**  Cassandre,"  was  Poliarchus ;  a  lady  friend,  Miss 
Owen,  was  Lucasia  ;  ^  fine  names,  to  be  sure,  which 
unfortunately  will  remind  many  a  reader  not  only  of 
matchless  Arthenice,  of  the  Hotel  de  Rambouillet,  but 
of  Moliere's  Cathos  and  Madelon,  who,  too,  had  chosen 
to  imitate  the  Marquise,  and  insisted  on  being  called 
Aminte  and  Polixene,  to  the  astonishment  of  their 
honest  father.^ 

The  high  morality  and  delicacy,  both  of  the 
'^^  Hotel,"  and,  alas,  of  Moliere's  "  Precieuses,"  were 
also  imitated  at  Cardigan.  To  get  married  was  a 
thing  so  coarse  and  vulgar  that  people  with  refined 
souls  were  to  slip  into  that  only  at  the  last  extremity. 
"  A  fine  thing  it  would  be,"  says  the  Madelon  of  the 
"  Precieuses,"  "  if  from  the  first  Cyrus  were  to  marry 
Mandane  and  if  Aronce  were  all  at  once  wedded  to 
Clelia  ! "  We  have  seen  that  such  is  not  the  case,  and 
that  ten  volumes  of  adventures  interpose  between  their 
love  and  their  marriage.     In  the  same  way  an  eternal 

^  About  this  curious  little  society  see  Mr.  Gosse's  *'  Seventeenth 
Century  Studies,"  1883,  pp.  205  et  seq. 

^  "  Cathos  :  Le  nom  de  Polixene  que  ma  cousine  a  choisi  et 
celui  d'Aminte  que  je  me  suis  donne  ont  une  grace  dont  il  faut 
que  vous  demeuriez  d'accord  "  ("  Precieuses  Ridicules,"  sc.  v.). 


374  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

friendship,  a  marriage  of  soul  to  soul,  having  been 
sworn  between  Orinda  and  Lucasia,  it  was  a  matter  of 
great  sorrow,  shame  and  despair  for  the  first  when  the 
second,  after  thirteen  years  of  this  refined  intercourse 
proved  frail  and  commonplace  enough  to  marry  a  lover 
of  appropriate  age,  fortune  and  position. 

Another  centre  for  heroic  thoughts  and  refined 
morality  was  the  country  house  of  the  pedantic  but 
pretty  Duchess  of  Newcastle,  a  prolific  writer  of  essays, 
letters,  plays,  poems,  tales,  and  works  of  all  kinds.  To 
her,  literature  was  a  compensation  for  the  impossibility, 
through  want  of  opportunity,  of  performing  with  her 
own  hand  heroical  deeds  :  "  I  dare  not  examine,"  says 
she,  "  the  former  times,  for  fear  I  should  meet  with  such 
of  my  sex  that  have  out-done  all  the  glory  I  can  aime 
at  or  hope  to  attaine  ;  for  I  confess  my  ambition  is 
restless,  and  not  ordinary  ;  because  it  would  have  an 
extraordinary  fame.  And  since  all  heroick  actions, 
publick  employments,  powerfuU  governments  and 
eloquent  pleadings  are  denyed  our  sex  in  this  age 
or  at  least  would  be  condemned  for  want  of  custome, 
is  the  cause  I  write  so  much."  ^ 

She  wrote  a  great  deal,  and  not  without  feeling  a 
somewhat  deep  and  naively  expressed  admiration  for 
her  own  performances.  The  epithet  '^restless"  which 
she  applies  to  her  ambition,  well  fits  her  whole  mind  ; 
there  is  restlessness  about  everything  she  did  and 
wrote.  She  is  never  satisfied  with  one  epistle  to  the 
reader  ;  she  must  have  ten  or  twelve  prefaces  and  under- 
prefaces,  which  forcibly  remind  us  of  her  contemporary, 
Oronte,  in  his  famous  sonnet  scene  with  Alceste.  Her 
^  "Natures  pictures,"  London,  1656,  fol.,  preface  No.  2. 


A   FASHIONABLE   CONVERSATION. 


I/-    375- 


AFTER  SHAKESPEARE.  377 

**  Natures  pictures  drawn  by  Fancies  pencil  to  the  life  " 
is  preceded  by  several  copies  of  commendatory  verses  and 
a  succession  of  preambles,  entitled  :  "  To  the  reader — 
An  epistle  to  my  readers — To  the  reader — To  the 
^eader  — To  my  readers — To  my  readers";  each  being 
iuly  signed  "  M.  Newcastle."  It  seems  as  if  the  sight 
of  her  own  name  was  a  pleasure  to  her.  These 
prefaces  are  full  of  expostulations,  explanations  and 
apologies,  quite  in  the  Oronte  style  :  **  The  design  of 
these  my  feigned  stories,  is  to  present  virtue,  the  muses 
leading  her  and  the  graces  attending  her.  .  .  .  Perchance 
my  feigned  stories  are  not  so  lively  described  as  they 
might  have  been.  ...  As  for  those  tales  I  name 
romancicall,  I  would  not  have  my  readers  think  I 
write  them  either  to  please  or  to  make  foolish  whining 
lovers.  ...  I  must  entreat  my  readers  to  understand, 
that  though  my  naturall  genius  is  to  write  fancy,  yet 
.  .  .  Although  I  hope  every  piece  or  discourse  in  my 
book  will  delight  my  readers  or  at  least  some  one,  and 
some  another  .  .  .  yet  I  do  recommend  two  as  the 
most  solid  and  edifying."  Great  is  the  temptation  to 
answer  with  Alceste  :  "  Nous  verrons  bien  !  "  ^  But 
how  could  one  say  so  when  she  was  so  pretty }  The 
best  preface  to  her  volumes  is  in  fact  the  charming 
engraving  representing  a  party  meeting  at  her  house  to 
tell  and  hear  tales  round  the  fire,  and  of  which  we  give 
a  reproduction.  The  only  pity  is  that  the  figure  meant 
as  her  portrait,  though  laurel-crowned,  looks  much 
more  plain  and  commonplace  than  we  might  have 
expected. 

^  Her   "Playes,"   1662,  are   preceded   by  two  dedications,   one 
prologue,  and  eleven  prefaces. 


3  7  8  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

She  wrote  ithen  abundantly  "  romancicall  "  tales,  as 
she  called  them,  with  a  touch  of  heroism  ;  edifying  tales 
in  which  she  prescribes  *'that  all  young  men  should  be 
kept  to  their  studies  so  long  as  their  ejffeminate 
beauties  doth  last ;  "  dialogues  "  of  the  wise  lady,  the 
learned  lady  and  the  witty  lady,"  the  three  being  only 
too  wise  ;  plays  in  which  she  depicts  herself  under  the 
names  of  Lady  Sanspareile,  of  Lady  Chastity,  &:c.,. 
unpardonable  sins,  no  doubt,  to  give  oneself  such 
names ;  but  it  is  reported  she  was  so  beautiful  ! 

Among  the  mass  of  her  writings,  it  must  be  added, 
ideas  are  scattered  here  and  there  which  were  destined 
to  live,  and  through  which  she  anticipated  men  of  true 
and  real  genius.  To  give  only  one  example,  she  too 
may  be  credited  with  having  anticipated  Richardson  in 
her  *'  Sociable  Letters,"  in  which  she  tries  to  imitate 
real  life,  to  describe  scenes,  very  nearly  to  write  an 
actual  novel  :  "  The  truth  is,"  she  writes,  "  they  are 
rather  scenes  than  letters,  for  I  have  endeavoured  under 
cover  of  letters  to  express  the  humors  of  mankind,  and 
the  actions  of  man's  life  by  the  correspondence  of  two 
ladies,  living  at  some  short  distance  from  each  other, 
which  make  it  not  only  their  chief  delight  and  pastime, 
but  their  tye  in  friendship,  to  discourse  by  letters  as 
they  would  do  if  they  were  personally  together."  i 
Many  collections  of  imaginary  letters  had,  as  we  have 
seen,  been  published  before,  but  never  had  the  use  to 
which  they  could  be  put  been  better  foreseen  by  any 
predecessor  of  Richardson. 

The  Duchess  lived  till  1674,  surrounded  by  an  ever- 

^   '-'CCXI.  Sociable  Letters,"  London,  1664,  fol. 


CONVERSATION    AND   TELLING   OF   STORIES    AT    THE    HOUSE   OF   THE 

DUCHESS   OF   NEWCASTLE,    1656.  [/.   370. 


AFTER  SHAKESPEARE.  381 

increasing  group  of  admirers,  deaf  to  the  jokes  of 
courtly  people  concerning  her  old-fashioned  chastity  ; 
more  than  consoled  by  the  firm  belief  she  had  as 
to  the  strength  of  her  mind  and  genius.  In  this 
persuasion  "  she  kept,"  wrote  Theophilus  Gibber,  "  a 
great  many  young  ladies  about  her  person,  who  oc- 
casionally wrote  what  she  dictated.  Some  of  them  slept 
in  a  room  contiguous  to  that  in  which  Her  Grace  lay, 
and  were  ready  at  the  call  of  her  bell  to  rise  any  hour 
of  the  night  to  write  down  her  conceptions,  lest  they 
should  escape  her  memory.  The  young  ladies  no  doubt 
often  dreaded  Her  Grace's  conceptions,  which  were 
frequent."  ^  Here,  again,  her  restless  spirit  was  in 
some  manner  anticipating  unawares  another  great  writer, 
namely,  Pope. 

Thus,  in  spite  of  Cromwell  and  the  Puritans  on  the 
one  side,  and  Charles  II.  and  his  courtiers  on  the  other, 
French  ideas  as  to  the  possible  dignity  and  purity  of 
lives  in  which  the  worldly  element  was  not  wanting 
grew  to  some  extent  on  the  English  soil,  though,  it  is 
true,  with  less  success,  being  as  we  see  mainly  relegated 
at  that  time  to  the  country.  The  true  hour  for  virtues 
not  the  less  real  because  sociable,  virtues  such  as  they 
were  understood  by  Madame  de  Sevigne  or  Madame 
de  Rambouillet,  had  not  yet  come.  They  were  to  be 
thoroughly  acclimatized  only  in  the  next  century, 
principally  through  the  exertions  of  Steele  and  Addison. 

But  the  strictly  heroical  part  of  French  tastes  was 
accepted  immediately  and  with  great  enthusiasm.  The 
extraordinary  number  of  folio  heroical  romances  still 

^  "  Lives  of  the  Poets  ...  to  the  time  of  Dean  Swift,"  London, 
J753>  5  vols.  i2mo  ;  vol.  ii.  p.  164. 


382  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

to  be  seen  in  old  English  country  houses  testifies 
at  the  present  day  to  their  extraordinary  hold  upon 
the  polite  society  of  the  time.  The  King  gave  the 
example.  Charles  I.  had  been  a  reader  of  such  novels  ; 
on  the  eve  of  his  death  he  distributed  a  few  souvenirs 
to  his  most  faithful  friends,  and  we  see  him  give 
away,  besides  Hooker  s  "  Ecclesiastical  Polity "  and 
Dr.  Andrews'  sermons,  the  romance  of  "  Cassandre," 
which  he  left  to  the  Earl  of  Lindsey.  During  the 
troublous  times  of  the  civil  war,  Dorothy  Osborne 
constantly  alludes,  in  her  letters  to  Sir  William  Temple, 
to  the  books  she  reads,  and  they  are  mostly  these  same 
French  novels.  While  troops  are  marching  to  and  fro  ; 
while  rebellions  and  counter-rebellions  are  preparing  or 
breaking  out,  the  volumes  of  "  Cleopatre  "  and  "  Grand 
Cyrus  "  go  to  and  fro  between  the  lovers  and  are  the 
subject  of  their  epistolary  discussions.    "  Have  you  read 

*  Cleopatre ' }  I  have  six  tomes  on't  here  that  I  can 
lend  you  if  you  have  not ;  there  are  some  stories  in't 
you  will  like,  I  believe." — "  Since  you  are  at  leisure 
to  consider  the  moon,    you    may  be  enough    to   read 

*  Cleopatre,'  therefore  I  have  sent  you  three  volumes. 
,  .  .  There  is  a  story  of  Artimise  that  I  will  recom- 
mend to  you  ;  her  disposition  I  like  extremely,  it 
has  a  great  deal  of  practical  wit ;  and  if  you  meet 
with  one  Brittomart,  pray  send  me  word  how  you  like 
him." — "  I  have  a  third  tome  here  [of  ''  Cyrus  "]  against 
you  have  done  with  that  second  ;  and  to  encourage 
you,  let  me  assure  you  that  the  more  you  read  of 
them,  you  will  like  them  still  better,"  i  and  so  on. 

^  "Letters  from  Dorothy  Osborne  to  Sir  William  Temple, 
1652-4,"  ed.  Parry,  London,  1888,  8vo.  Letter  ix.  p.  60  ;  Letter 
X.  p.  64  ;  Letter  xxiv.  p.  124,  year  1653. 


AFTER  SHAKESPEARE,  383 

The  wife  of  Mr.  Pepys  was  not  less  fond  of  PVench 
romances  than  Dorothy  Osborne,  and  we  sometimes 
find  her  husband  purchasing  copies  at  his  bookseller's 
to  bring  home  as  presents.  But  he  himself  did  not 
like  them  very  much  ;  he  seems  to  have  been  deterred 
from  this  kind  of  literature  by  his  wife's  habit  of 
reciting  stories  to  him  out  of  these  works  ;  some  quarrel 
ev^en  took  place  between  the  couple  about  "  Cyrus," 
though  it  seems  that  "Cyrus"  was  in  this  case  more  the 
pretext  than  the  reason  of  the  discussion,  as  honest  Pepys 
with  his  usual  frankness  gives  us  to  understand  :  "At 
noon  home,  where  I  find  my  wife  troubled  still  at  my 
checking  her  last  night  in  the  coach  in  her  long  stories 
out  of  '  Grand  Cyrus,'  which  she  would  tell,  though 
nothing  to  the  purpose,  nor  in  any  good  manner. 
This  she  took  unkindly,  and  I  think  I  was  to  blame 
indeed  ;  but  she  do  find  with  reason  that  in  the 
company  of  Pierce,  Knipp,  or  other  women  that  I  love 
I  do  not  value  her  as  I  ought.  However  very  good 
friends  by  and  by."  As  a  penance  doubtless  we  see 
him  buying  for  her  later  "  L'lllustre  Bassa  in  four 
volumes "  and  "  Cassandra  and  some  other  French 
books."  I 


III. 

But  reading  and  translating  was  not  enough  for  a 
society  so  enamoured  of  heroical  romances ;  some 
original  ones  were  to  be  composed  for  English  readers 
and  the  composing  of  them  became  a  fashionable 
pastime.      "  My  lord  Broghill,"  writes  again  Dorothy 

^   May  13,  1666  ;  Feb.  24,  1667-8;  Nov.  16,  1668. 


384  THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL. 

Osborne  to  her  future  husband,  Sir  William  Temple^ 
the  patron  hereafter  of  the  yet  unborn  Jonathan  Swift, 
"  sure  will  give  us  something  worth  the  reading.  My 
Lord  Saye,  I  am  told,  has  writ  a  romance  since  his- 
retirement  in  the  isle  of  Lundy,  and  Mr.  Waller  they 
say  is  making  one  of  our  wars,  which  if  he  does  not 
mingle  with  a  great  deal  of  pleasing  fiction,  cannot 
be  very  diverting,  sure,  the  subject  is  so  sad."  ^ 

The  following  year,  that  is  1654,  the  English  public 
received,  according  to  Dorothy's  previsions,  the  first 
instalment  of  the  most  noticeable  heroical  romance 
composed  in  their  language.  It  was  called  ''  Par- 
thenissa,"  2  and  had  for  its  author  Roger  Boyle,  Lord 
Broghill,  afterwards  Earl  of  Orrery,  one  of  the  match- 
less Orinda's  great  friends. 3 

In  this  heroic  romance,  the  imitation  of  France  is 
as  exact  as  possible  ;  the  few  literary  qualities  percep- 
tible in  the  vast  compositions  of  Mdlle.  de  Scudery  and 
of  La  Calprenede,  do  not  shine  with  any  brighter  lustre 
in  "  Parthenissa."  As  in  France  ancient  history  is  put  to 
the  torture,  though  Scudery,  as  we  have  seen,  had  set  up 
as  a  rule  that  the  truth  of  history  was  to  be  respected  in 
romances ;  of  observation  of  nature  there  is  little  or  none,, 
and  the  conversations  of  the  characters  are  interminable. 
"  Turning  over  the  leaves  of  the  large  folio,"  wrote 

^  Letter  xxxiv.  p.  162.     Year  1653. 

*  "  Parthenissa,  that  most  fam'd  romance,"  London,  1654. 

3  He  assisted  her  in  getting  her  translation  of  Corneille's 
"Pompee"  represented  at  Dublin  with  embellishments,  consisting 
in  dances,  music,  songs,  &c.  He  was  born  in  1621  and  was  held 
in  great  esteem  both  by  Cromwell  and  by  the  Stuarts.  He  left 
dramas  and  other  works  and  died  in  1679. 


AFTER  SHAKESPEARE.  385 

one  of  the  last  critics  who  busied  themselves  with  this 
work,  "  I  perceived  that  .  .  .  the  story  some-how  or 
other  brought  in  Hannibal,  Massinissa,  Mithridates, 
Spartacus,  and  other  persons  equally  well  known.  .  .  . 
How  they  came  into  the  story  or  what  the  story  is 
I  cannot  tell  you  ;  nor  will  any  mortal  know  any 
more  than  I  do,  between  this  and  doomsday ;  but 
there  they  all  are,  lively  though  invisible,  like  carp 
in  a  pond."  ^  We  must  make  bold,  though  doomsday 
has  not  yet  come,  to  draw  forth  some  of  these  carp 
out  of  the  water,  and,  after  all,  this  is  not  the  darkest 
pond  in  which  we  shall  have  fished. 

At  the  commencement,  Boyle  introduces  us  to  a 
young  and  handsome  stranger  who  comes  to  Syria 
in  order  to  consult  the  oracle  of  Venus.  The  priest 
Callimachus  appears  before  him,  and  quite  suddenly 
asks  for  his  history.  The  stranger  is  very  willing  to 
tell  it.  His  name  is  Artabanes  and  he  is  the  son  of 
the  King  of  Parthia  ;  he  is  in  love  with  the  Princess 
Parthenissa  and  has  proved  his  affection  for  her  in  the 
manner  of  Sidney's  heroes  :  he  met  on  one  occasion 
an  Arab  prince,  who  was  travelling  with  a  collection 
of  twenty-four  pictures,  representing  the  mistresses 
of  twenty-four  famous  champions  overthrown  by  him. 
Artabanes  in  his  turn  measured  swords  with  the  Arab 
and  got  possession  of  the  twenty-four  paintings,  and 
one  in  addition,  which  represented  the  mistress  of  his 
adversary  :  whence  it  results  that  Parthenissa  is  the 
most  beautiful  woman  in  the  world,  exactly  what  the 
hero  intended  to  prove. 

^  "British  Novelists,"  by  David  Masson,  Cambridge,  1859,  ^'^°>- 
p.  72. 


386  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

Artabanes  has  a  rival,  Surena  ;  he  fancies  that  Surena 
is  the  happy  man,  leaves  Parthenissa  and  goes  to  live 
in  solitude.  Pirates  carry  him  off,  and  sell  him  at  Rome 
for  a  slave.  Then  under  the  name  of  Spartacus,  he  stirs 
up  a  revolt  and  accomplishes  exploits  attributed  by 
ancient  writers  to  that  rebel  ;  however  he  does  not  die 
as  in  history,  but  returns  to  Asia.  There,  Parthenissa, 
rather  than  surrender  to  a  lover,  swallows  a  drug  and 
dies ;  but  hers  is  only  an  apparent  death  and  she  returns 
to  life.  Artabanes,  in  the  same  way,  stabs  himself,  but 
he  is  cured  ;  and  then  it  is  that  he  comes  to  consult  the 
oracle. 

Callimachus  thanks  him  for  his  interesting  but 
somewhat  lengthy  story,  and  revenges  himself  by 
relating  his  own.  Unfortunately  he  is  interrupted : 
they  see  a  lady  who  looks  exactly  like  Parthenissa 
herself  enter  a  neighbouring  grove  ;  she  is  accompanied 
by  a  young  cavalier ;  they  embrace  and  disappear 
among  the  trees.  Artabanes'  anguish  at  this  sight 
cannot  be  described.  But  here  Roger  Boyle  found 
that  he  was  tired  and  wrote  no  more.  His  romance, 
which  already  comprised  five  parts,  was  published  by 
him  in  this  unfinished  form. 

For  a  long  time  the  public  was  left  in  suspense. 
The  Protector  was  dead,  his  son  had  fallen,  the  Stuarts 
had  again  ascended  the  throne,  and  no  one  knew  the 
€nd  of  the  loves  of  Prince  Artabanes.  The  continua- 
tion of  the  romance  is  due  to  the  charming  Henrietta 
of  England,  Duchess  of  Orleans.  Ten  or  twelve  years 
after  the  appearance  of  the  first  volume,  she  was  curious 
to  know  what  Parthenissa  was  doing  in  the  wood,  and 
begged    Roger    Boyle   to   bring   her    out    of    it.     He 


AFTER  SHAKESPEARE.  387 

wrote  a  sixth  part  In  four  books  and  dedicated  it  to 
her. 

Are  we  to  imagine  that  the  author  is  now  going  to 
lead  his  impatient  readers  in  search  of  the  heroine? 
Not  at  all.  Caliimachus,  who  was  unfairly  interrupted 
in  his  tale,  proposes  to  his  companions  to  leave  one  of 
them,  Symander,  on  guard,  and  to  go  and  refresh 
themselves.  When  they  were  rested,  "  they  conjur'd 
him  to  prosecute  his  story,  though  what  they  had  seen 
and  heard  gave  them  impatiences  which  nothing  but 
their  desires  of  knowing  so  generous  a  friend's  fortunes 
could  have  dispensed  with."  The  four  books  of  the 
sixth  part  are  devoted  to  this  narrative  ;  Boyle,  as  he 
said  in  his  preface,  had  thought  at  first  of  concluding 
everything  in  this  supplement ;  but  he  was  forced  to 
recognize  that  it  was  impossible  to  "  confine  it  within 
so  narrow  a  compass."  This  statement  will  be  found 
on  page  808  of  his  folio  volume.  Why  Parthe- 
nissa  entered  the  grove  was  never  to  be  known  nor 
what  she  had  to  say  in  her  justification.  Boyle,  who 
had  taken  up  his  pen  again  at  the  instance  of  the 
young  duchess,  had  very  soon  no  reason  to  continue  : 
Bossuet  was  callin  g  on  the  court  of  the  Grand  Roi 
to  weep  with  him  for  the  loss  of  this  charming  woman, 
whose  beauty  and  grace  had  only  blossomed  "  for  one 
morning." 

As  soon  as  the  book  was  out,  Dorothy  Osborne  had 
a  copy  sent  to  her,  but  she  did  not  like  it  so  much  as 
the  French  models.  She  writes  to  Temple  :  "Til  .  .  . 
tell  you  that  '  Parthenissa  '  is  now  my  company.  My 
brother  sent  it  down  and  I  have  almost  read  it.  'Tis 
handsome  language  ;  you  would  know  it  to  be  writ  by  a 


388  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

person  of  good  quality  though  you  were  not  told  it  ; 
but  on  the  whole  I  am  not  very  much  taken  with  it. 
All  the  stories  have  too  near  a  resemblance  with  those 
of  other  romances ;  there  is  nothing  new  and  surprenant 
in  them  ;  the  ladies  are  all  so  kind  they  make  no 
sport/'  I 

Boyle,  it  is  said,  besides  his  dramas  and  other  works, 
again  tried  his  fortune  as  a  novel  writer,  and  published 
in  1676  '^English  Adventures  by  a  person  of  honour." 
It  is  in  a  style  so  absolutely  different  from  his  former 
romance  that  it  is  scarcely  credible  that  both  came  from 
the  same  pen.  "  English  Adventures  "  tell  the  story 
of  the  amours  of  King  Henry  VIII.,  of  Brandon,  and 
others.  All  the  reserve  in  "  Parthenissa  "  'has  entirely 
disappeared,  and  scenes  are  presented  to  the  eye  which, 
except  at  the  time  of  the  Restoration,  have  usually  been 
veiled.  Love  is  in  this  novel  the  subject  of  many  dis- 
cussions, and  so  it  was  in  heroic  romances,  but  while  it 
was  spoken  of  there  with  decency  and  dignity,  it  is 
never  mentioned  in  "  English  Adventures  "  but  in  a 
tone  of  banter  and  raillery.  The  discourses  about  this 
passion  recall  Suckling's  ideas  much  more  than  those 
of  Madeleine  de  Scudery.  "  Pardon  me,  madam,  Wil- 
more  reply'd,  if  I  think  you  mistake .  the  case,  for  I 
never  said  I  was  for  a  siege  in  Love  :  that  is  the  dull 
method  of  those  countries  whose  discipline  in  amours  I 
abominate.  I  am  for  the  French  mode,  where  the  first 
day,  I  either  conquer  my  mistress  or  my  passion." 
Whether  or  not  this  be  according  to  "  the  French 
mode,"  we  are  obviously  very  far  fi-om  the  Montausier 
ideal.  The  author  continues  :  "  Nor  indeed  did  I  ever 
^  Letter  LI.  p.  236,  year  1654. 


AFTER  SHAKESPEARE,  389 

see  any  woman  (I  mean  in  France)  cry  up  constancy, 
but  she  was  decaying  ;  for  when  any  thing  but  love  is 
to  maintain  love  'tis  a  proof  Beauty  cannot  do  it,  and 
then,  alas,  nothing  else  can."  i  If  this  and  the  very 
licentious  adventures  which  follow  are  really  Boyle's,  it 
must  be  conceded  that  the  change  worked  upon  him  by 
the  new  Restoration  manners  was  indeed  vast  and  com- 
prehensive. 

Other  original  attempts  at  the  heroical  romance  were 
made  in  England  at  this  period.  It  will  be  enough 
to  mention  one  more.  The  two  main  defects  of  the 
heroical  dramas  of  Dryden  and  his  contemporaries  are 
bombast  in  the  ideas  and  bad  taste  in  the  expressions. 
In  Crowne's  heroical  novel  of  "  Pandion  and  Amphige- 
nia "  -  both  defects  are  pushed  to  an  extreme  which, 
incredible  as  it  may  seem  to  the  readers  of  Dryden,  was 
never  at  any  time  reached  by  the  laureate. 

The  story  is  the  usual  heroical  story  of  valorous 
deeds  and  peerless  loves ;  the  author  is  careful  to  assert 
that  he  is  perfectly  original:  "All.  .  .is  genuine, 
nothing  stole,  nothing  strained."  He  has  been  especially 
careful  to  avoid  imitating  the  French  and  the  elegancies 
of  "  that  ceremonious  nation."  After  such  a  declara- 
tion we  are  rather  surprised  to  hear  Periander  thus 
answer  a  lady  who,  in  the  usual  way,  had  asked  him  for 
his  inevitable  story  :  ''  Madam,"  said  he,  "  your  expres- 
sions speak  you  no  less  rich  in  virtue  than  beauty.  .  .  . 

^  P.  54.  Part  of  the  tale,  viz.  :  the  adventures  of  Brandon, 
supplied  Otway  with  the  plot  of  his  "  Orphan  "  (performed  1680). 

^  *'  Pandion  and  Amphigenia,  or  the  history  of  the  coy  lady  of 
Thessalia  adorned  with  sculptures,"  London,  1665,  8vo.  Crowne 
died  about  1703  ;  his  dramatic  works  have  been  published  in  four 
vols.,  1873. 


390  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

I  should  be  more  savage  then  the  beasts  that  Orpheus 
charmed  into  civility,  should  I  remain  inexorable  to  the 
intreaties  of  so  sweet  an  orator,  whose  perfections  are 
such  that  I  cannot  but  account  it  as  great  a  glory  to 
obey  you,  as  it  would  make  me  sensible  of  shame  to 
refuse  any  thing  you  should  command,  though  it  were  ta 
sacrifice  my  life  and  honour,  which  are  the  only  jewels 
I  ever  prized  in  my  prosperity,  and  which  is  all  that 
Fortune  hath  left  to  my  disposal  in  my  adversity." 
Then  he  tells  his  story,  which  we  had  better  not 
listen  to,  for  it  begins  :  "  Know  vou  then  that  in  the 
city  of  Corinth,  there  dwelt  a  gentleman  called 
Eleutherius  .  .  .,"  and  we  know  full  well  what  such 
beginnings  threaten.  The  romance  goes  on  describing- 
bloody  feuds  and  matchless  beauties.  Here  is  in  charac- 
teristic style  a  portrait  of  a  matchless  beauty  : 

"  The  pillow  blest  with  a  kiss  from  her  cheeks,  as 
pregnant  with  delight,  swelled  on  either  side.  ...  A 
lock  that  had  stollen  from  its  sweet  prison,  folded  in 
cloudy  curls,  lay  dallying  with  her  breath,  sometimes 
striving  to  get  a  kiss,  and  then  repulsed  flew  back, 
sometimes  obtaining  its  desired  bliss,  and  then  as  rapt 
with  joy,  retreated  in  wanton  caperings.  .  .  .  Her  breasts 
at  liberty  displayed  were  of  so  pure  a  whiteness  as  if 
one's  eye  through  the  transparent  skin,  had  viewed  the 
milky  treasures  they  inclosed." 

Oh  !  for  a  Boileau,  shall  we  exclaim,  to  cut  off  the 
flowers  of  such  paper  gardens  !  for  a  Defoe  to  show 
how  prose  fiction  should  be  written  !  But  Boileau  is 
abroad  and  Defoe's  time  is  yet  to  come.  Wait,  besides, 
for  this  is  nothing  and  we  have  better  in  store  ;  that 
was  love,  here  is  war  : 


AFTER  SHAKESPEARE.  391 

"  The  signal  for  the  battail  being  given,  there  began 
such  a  terrible  conflict,  as  that  within  a  short  time 
thousands  lay  dead  in  the  place,  both  sides  maintaining 
their  assaults  with  such  impetuous  rage  as  if  the  Gyants 
had  been  come  to  heap  mountains  of  carcasses  to  assail 
heaven  and  besiege  the  gods  ;  nothing  but  fury  reigned 
in  every  breast,  some  that  were  thrust  through  with 
lances  would  yet  run  themselves  farther  on  to  reach 
their  enemies  and  requite  that  mortal  wound  .  .  .  the 
earth  grew  of  a  sanguine  complexion,  being  covered 
with  blood,  as  if  every  soldier  had  been  Death's  herald, 
and  had  come  to  emblazon  Mars's  arms  with  a  sword 
Argent  on  a  field  Gules.  ...  In  one  place,  lay  heads 
deposed  from  their  sovereignties,  yawning  and  staring 
as  if  they  looked  for  their  bodies."  ^  One  refreshing 
thought  is  the  remembrance  of  the  pure,  deep  pleasure 
Crowne  must  have  found  in  fastening  together  such  an 
unparalleled  series  of  conceits.  "  Peste,"  is  he  sure  to 
have  said  with  Sosie  : 

"  Peste  !   ou  prend  mon  esprit  toutes  ces  gentillesses  ?  " 

As  for  the  final  result  of  these  wars  and  love-makings, 
it  is  a  very  airy  one  ;  for  Crowne  seems  to  have  enter- 
tained a  higher  ideal  of  purity  than  even  Montausier 
and  Orinda.  His  ladies  bestow  upon  their  lovers 
nothing  at  all,  not  even  marriage,  and  the  author,  after 
having  been  at  some  trouble  to  re-establish  order  in 
Thessaly  and  other  countries,  gives  up  all  idea  of 
getting  Pandion  and  Amphigenia  wedded,  this  lady,  she 
of  the  pillow  above  described,  being  as  he  says  so  very 
"  coy.'* 

'  Pp.  140,  141. 
23 


392  THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL. 

Though  not  quite  a  match  for  Crowne's  it  must  be 
conceded  that  neither  is  Dryden's  bombast  of  a  mean 
order.  The  following  passage  which  very  nearly  bears 
comparison  with  the  above,  will  show  how  heroism 
appeared  when  transferred  to  the  stage.  In  one  of  the 
dramas,  the  plot  of  which  Dryden  took  from  the  French 
romances,  Almanzor  thus  addresses  a  rival  : 

.   .     "  If  from  thy  hands  alone  my  death  can  be, 
I  am  immortal  and  a  god  to  thee, 
If  I  would  kill  thee  now,  thy  fate's  so  low 
That  I  must  stoop  ere  I  can  give  the  blow  : 
But  mine  is  fixed  so  far  above  thy  crown. 
That  all  thy  men. 

Piled  on  thy  back,  can  never  pull  it  down  : 
But  at  my  ease,  thy  destiny  I  send. 
By  ceasing  from  this  hour  to  be  thy  friend. 
Like  heaven,  I  need  but  only  to  stand  still. 
And  not  concurring  to  thy  life,  I  kill."  ^ 

Any  number  of  speeches  of  this  sort  are  to  be 
found  in  the  heroical  dramas  of  Dryden,  Settle,  Lee, 
and  their  contemporaries.  Roman,  Arab,  Turk,  Greek 
or  Moorish  heroes,  pirates  or  princes,  when  they  mean 
•  to  set  anything  at  defiance,  choose  nothing  less  than 
heaven  and  earth  as  their  object ;  they  divide  the 
world  between  them  as  if  it  were  an  orange  ;  they  rush 
to  the  fight  or  stop  for  a  speech  with  a  fine  shake  of 
the  head  which  sends  a  majestic  undulation  round  the 
wig  worn  by  them,  even  by  the  Moors,  as  we  may 
see  in  one  of  the  very  rare  dramas  then  published  with 

^  "Almanzor  and  Almahide,  or  the  Conquest  of  Granada,"  per- 
formed (with  great  success)  in  the  winter,  1669-70,  act  iii.  sc.  i.. 


HEROES   (MOORISH   ONES)   AS  THEY  APPEARED   ON   THE   STAGE,    FROM 

settle's  *' EMPRESS  OF  MOROCCO,"    1673.  [A  3£I3» 


AFTER  SHAKESPEARE.  395 

engravings.     They  are  represented  there  with  embroi- 
dered justaucorps,  wigs  and  ribbons.  ^ 

Crowne  besides  his  romance  wrote  several  dramas  that 
secured  him  a  wide,  if  temporary,  popularity.  He  also 
adapted  Racine's  "  Andromaque  "  for  the  English  stage, 
but  he  was  very  much  disgusted  with  this  work  ;  the 
French  original,  though  not  "the  worst "  of  French  plays, 
was  after  all  so  mean  and  tame  !  "  If  the  play  be  barren 
of  fancy,  you  must  blame  the  original  author.  I  am  as 
much  inclined  to  be  civil  to  strangers  as  any  man  ;  but 
then  they  must  be  strangers  of  merit.  I  would  no  more 
be  at  the  pains  to  bestow  wit  (if  I  had  any)  on  a 
French  play,  than  I  would  be  at  the  cost  to  bestow 
cloaths  on  every  shabby  Frenchman  that  comes  over." 
Here  we  have  Racine  put  in  his  proper  place  ; 
what  claim  had  he  to  be  considered  ^'  a  stranger  of 
merit "  }  True,  some  crabbed  English  critics  seem  to 
have  taken  his  part  against  the  translator,  and,  in- 
credible as  it  may  seem,  they  have  expressed  a  thought 
that  "  this  suffered  much  in  the  translation. — I  cannot 
tell  in  what,"  answers  Crowne,  "  except  in  not 
bestowing  verse  upon  it,  which  I  thought  it  did  not 
deserve.  For  otherwise,  there  is  all  that  is  in  the 
French  play,  verbatim,  and  something  more,  as  mav 
be  seen  in  the  last  act,  where  what  is  dully  recited 
in  the  French  play  is  there  represented,  which  is  nc 
small  advantage."  2     And  true,  it   is,  Pyrrhus  is  slain 

^  Settle's  "Empress  of  Morocco,"  London,  1673,  4to.  The 
engraving  we  reproduce  represents  the  interior  of  a  Moorish  prison, 
with  Muley  Labas,  son  of  the  Emperor  of  Morocco,  and  the 
Princess  Morena. 

2  "  Andromache,  a  tragedy,  as  it  is  acted  at  the  Dukes  Theatre," 
London,  1675,  4to. 


396  THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL, 

before  our  eyes  ;  there  are  "  alarums  "  and  other  lively, 
if  customary,  ornaments. 

In  this  age  obviously  Racine  could  not  please.  Nor 
would  Shakespeare  have  pleased  a  French  audience, 
but  as  we  know  no  attempt  in  that  direction  was  made 
in  Paris.  The  two  nations  lent  one  another,  if  anything, 
their  defects.  "Alaric"  was  named  with  praise  by  Dryden ; 
Scudery  and  La  Calprenede  continued  to  be  most  popular 
French  authors  during  the  century.  Even  in  the  next 
we  find  something  remaining  of  their  fame.  Among 
the  books  in  the  library  of  the  fashionable  Leonora, 
Addison  notices  :  "*  Cassandra,'  *  Cleopatra,' '  Astrasa'  . .  . 
the  *  Grand  Cyrus,'  with  a  pin  stuck  in  one  of  the 
middle  leaves  .  .  .  '  Clelia,'  which  opened  of  it  self 
in  the  place  that  describes  two  lovers  in  a  bower,"  ^  &c. 
The  passions  in  them  which  seem  to  us  now  so  in- 
credibly frigid,  had  not  yet  cooled  down  ;  their  warmth 
was  still  felt  :  so  much  so  that  in  one  of  Farquhar's 
plays,  "  Cassandra  "  is  mentioned  as  greatly  responsible 
for  Lady  Lurewell's  first  and  greatest  fault,  the  begin- 
ning of  many  others  :  "  After  supper  I  went  to  my 
chamber  and  read  '  Cassandra,'  then  went  to  bed  and 
dreamt  of  it  all  night,  rose  in  the  morning  and  made 
verses  ..."  2  We  cannot  follow  her  in  her  account 
of  the  consequences. 

All  that  was  truly  noble  and  simple  in  French  literature 
was  known,  but  at  the  same  time  generally  misunder- 
stood in  England.  To  make  French  authors  acceptable, 
grossness  was  added  to  Moliere,  bombast   to  Racine  ; 

^   Spectator^  April    12,  171 1. 

^  "The  Constant  Couple,  or  a  trip  to  the  Jubilee,"  1700,. 
act  iii.,  last  scene. 


AFTER  SHAKESPEARE.  397 

even  Otway,  when  translating  ''  Berenice,"  transformed 
Racine's  "  Titus  "  into  a  bully  of  romance  who,  in  order 
to  assuage  his  grief,  goes  to  overrun  "  the  Universe  " 
and  make  "  the  worlds  "  as  wretched  as  he  is.^  Madame 
de  la  Fayette  had  shown  how  it  was  possible  to  copy 
from  life,  in  a  novel,  true  heroism  and  true  tenderness 
without  exaggeration  ;  her  exquisite  masterpiece  was 
translated  of  course  as  was  everything  then  that  was 
French  ;  but  oblivion  soon  gathered  round  the 
"  Princess  of  Cleve,"  and  the  only  proof  we  have 
that  it  did  not  pass  unnoticed  is  a  clumsy  play  by 
Lee,  in  which  this  best  of  old  French  novels  is  merci- 
lessly caricatured. 2  There  was  no  attempt  to  imitate 
the  Comtesse's  pure  and  perfect  style  and  high  train  of 
thought. 


IV. 


Reaction  against  the  heroical  romances  did  not  wait, 
however,  till  the  eighteenth  century  to  assert  itself  in 
England ;  it  set  in  early  and  very  amusingly :  but  it 
remained  powerless.     As  the  evil  had  chiefly  come  from 

^  "Titus  and  Berenice  ;  a  tragedy,''  1677. 

2  "The  Princess  of  Montpensier,"  1666;  "The  Princess  of 
Cleve  .  .  .  written  by  the  greatest  wits  of  France,  rendred 
into  English  by  a  person  of  quality  at  the  request  of  some  friends," 
i688  :  "  Zayde,"  1688.  Nat.  Lee's  play  is  entitled,  **  The  Princess 
of  Cleve,"  London,  1689,  4to.  As  to  the  popularity  of  this  novel 
in  France,  it  will  be  enough  to  notice  Madame  de  Sevigne's 
allusion  to  "  ce  chien  de  Barbin,"  who  does  not  fulfil  her  orders 
when  she  wants  books,  because  she  does  not  write  "des  Princesses 
de  Cleves." 


398  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

France,  so  did  the  remedy  ;  but  the  remedy  in  France 
proved  sufficient  for  a  cure.  In  that  country  at  all  times 
the  tale  had  flourished,  and  at  all  times  in  the  tale,  to  the 
detriment  of  chivalry  and  heroism,  writers  had  prided 
themselves  on  seeking  mere  truth.  Thus,  in  the  charming 
preface  of  the  Reine  de  Navarre's  *'  Heptameron,"  Dame 
Parlamente  establishes  the  theory  of  these  narratives, 
and  relates  how,  at  the  court,  it  had  been  decided  to 
write  a  series  of  them,  but  to  exclude  from  the  number 
of  their  authors  ''  those  who  should  have  studied  and  be 
men  of  letters  ;  for  Monseigneur  the  Dauphin  did  not 
wish  their  artifice  to  be  introduced  into  them,  and  was 
also  afraid  lest  the  beauty  of  rhetoric  should  in  some 
place  injure  the  truth  of  the  tale." 

In  the  seventeenth  century,  the  tradition  of  the  old 
story-tellers  is  carried  on  in  France  in  more  developed 
writings,  in  actual  novels,  such  as  the  "  Baron  de  Foe- 
neste  "  of  D'Aubigne,  1617  ;  the  ''  Francion  "  of  Charles 
Sorel,  1622  (.?)  ;  the  "  Berger  extravagant  "  of  the  same, 
1628  ;  the  "Roman  Comique"  of  Scarron,  1651  ;  the 
"Roman  bourgeois"  of  Furetiere,  1666,  and  many 
others.  Scarron,  who  had  travestied  Virgil,  was  not  the 
man  to  spare  La  Calprenede,  and  he  does  not  lose  his 
opportunity.  "  I  cannot  exactly  tell  you,"  he  writes  of 
one  of  his  characters,  "  whether  he  had  sup'dthat  night, 
or  went  to  bed  empty,  as  some  Romance-mongers  use 
to  do,  who  regulate  all  their  heroes'  actions,  making 
them  rise  early,  and  tell  on  their  story  till  dinner  time, 
then  dine  lightly,  and  after  their  meal  proceed  in  the 
discourse ;  or  else  retire  to  some  shady  grove  to  talk  by 
themselves,  unless  they  have  something  to  discover  to 
the  rocks  and  trees." 


AFTER  SHAKESPEARE.  399' 

Furetiere,  writing  in  the  same  spirit,  declares  that  he 
wishes  to  concern  himself  with  ''  persons  who  are  neither 
heroes  nor  heroines,  who  will  neither  raise  armies  nor 
overturn  kingdoms  ;  but  who  will  be  good  people  of 
middling  rank  who  quietly  go  on  their  usual  way,  of 
whom  some  are  handsome  and  others  plain,  some  wise 
and  others  foolish  ;  and  the  latter  have  the  appearance 
indeed  of  forming  the  greatest  number."  ^ 

Without  speaking  of  the  more  important  works  of 
Cervantes  and  Rabelais,^  most  of  these  novels  were 
translated  into  English,  and  in  the  same  spirit  as  they 
had  been  written,  that  is,  to  be  used  as  engines  of  war 
against  heroes  and  heroism.  "  The  French  themselves," 
writes  one  of  the  translators,  "  our  first  romantique 
masters  .  .  .  have  given  over  making  the  world  other- 
wise than  it  was  ;  are  now  come  to  represent  it  to  us  as 


^  "Je  ne  vous  dirai  pas  exactement  s'il  avait  soupe  et  s'il  se 
coucha  sans  manger  comme  font  quelques  faiseurs  de  romans  qui 
reglent  toutes  les  heures  du  jour  de  leurs  heros,  les  font  se  lever  de 
bon  matin,  conter  leur  histoire  jusqu'  a  I'heure  du  diner,  reprendre 
leur  histoire  ou  s'enfoncer  dans  un  bois  pour  y  aller  parler  tout 
seuls,  si  ce  n'est  quand  ih  ont  quelque  chose  a  dire  aux  arbres  et 
aux  rochers  "  ("  Roman  comique,"  chap.  ix.  ed.  1825). 

"Je  vous  raconteray  sincerement  et  avec  iidelite'  plusieurs  his- 
toriettes  et  galanteries  arrivees  entre  des  personnes  qui  ne  seront 
ny  heros  ny  heroines,  qui  ne  dresseront  point  d'armees,  ny  ne 
renverseront  point  de  royaumes,  mais  qui  seront  de  ces  bonnes  gens 
de  mediocre  condition,  qui  vont  tout  doucement  leur  grand  chemin, 
dont  les  uns  seront  beaux  et  les  autres  laids,  les  uns  sages  et  les 
autres  sots;  et  ceux-cy  ont  bien  la  mine  de  composer  le  plus  grand 
nombre  "  ("  Roman  bourgeois,"  ed,  Janet,  p.  6). 

2  Rabelais  by  Urquhart,  London,  1653,  8vo  ;  Cervantes  in  1612  j 
and  again  by  T.  Shelton  in  1620  and. by  J.  Philips,  16S7. 


40O  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

it  is  and  ever  will  be."  ^  "  Among  all  the  books  that 
ever  were  thought  on,"  writes  another,  who  curiously 
enough  had  about  the  same  opinion  of  the  favourite 
novels  of  his  time  as  Sidney  had  had  of  the  drama  a 
century  earlier,  *'  those  of  knight  errantry  and  shep- 
herdry  have  been  so  excellently  trivial  and  naughty, 
that  it  would  amuse  a  good  judgment  to  consider  into 
what  strange  and.  vast  absurdities  some  imaginations 
have  straggled  ...  the  Knight  constantly  killing  the 
gyant,  or  it  may  be  whole  squadrons  ;  the  Damosel 
certainly  to  be  relieved  just  upon  the  point  of  ravishing  ; 
a  little  childe  carried  away  out  of  his  cradle  after  some 
twenty  years  discovered  to  be  the  sone  of  some  great 
prince  ;  a  girl  after  seven  years  wand  ring  and  co- 
habiting and  being  stole,  confirmed  to  be  a  virgin, 
either  by. a  panterh,  fire  or  a  fountain,  and  lastly  all 
ending  in  marriage.  .  .  These  are  the  noble  enter- 
tainments of  books  of  this  kinde,  which  how  profitable 
they  are,  you  may  judge  ;    how  pernicious  'tis  easily 

^  Scarron's  "Comical  romance  :  or  a  facetious  history  of  a  company 
of  strowling  stage-players,"  London,  1676,  fol.  Preface  to  the 
continuation.  The  translator  is  at  some  pains  to  anglicize  his 
original  ;  when  Scarron  speaks  of  Paris,  the  translator  puts 
London  ;  Ragotin  is  heard  defending  Spenser  (chapter  xv.).  The 
poet  in  Scarron  brags  of  his  acquaintance  with  Corneille  and  Rotrou, 
and  in  the  English  text,  with  Shakespeare,  Fletcher,  and  Jonson 
(chap,  viii.).  There  were  other  translations  of  Scarron:  "The 
whole  comical  works  of  M.  Scarron,"  translated  by  Mr.  T.  Brown, 
Mr.  Savage,  and  others,  London,  1700,  8vo ;  '*  The  comic 
romance,"  translated  by  O.  Goldsmith,  Dublin,  1780  (?)  2  vol. 
izmo.  His  shorter  novels  or  stories  were  separately  translated  by 
Johft  Davies,  who  states  in  the  preface  of  "The  unexpected  Choice," 
London,  1670,  that  he  did  so  at  the  suggestion  of  the  late  Catherine 
Philips,  the  matchless  Orinda. 


A  poet's  dream  realized,  from  "the  extravagant  shepherd,"  1653. 

[/•  401. 


V^ 


calif< 


AFTER  SHAKESPEARE.  403 

seen,  if  they  meet  but  with  an  intentlve  melancholy  and 
a  spirit  apt  to  be  overborn  by  such  follies  ;  "  ^  a  spirit, 
in  fact,  such  as  Lady  Lurewell's,  whose  reading  of 
*'  Cassandra "  had,  as  we  have  seen,  such  remarkable 
consequences. 2 

Efforts  made  in  England  to  imitate  this  style  and  to 
lead,  by  means  of  the  romance  itself,  a  reaction  against 
the  false  heroism  that  the  romance  had  introduced, 
proved  sadly  abortive.  These  attempts  have  fallen  into 
a  still  more  profound  oblivion  than  those  of  the  story- 
tellers of  Shakespeare's  time.  The  English  were  not 
yet  masters  of  the  supple,  crisp  and  animated  language 
which  suited  that  kind  of  tale,  and  which  the  French 
possessed  from  the  thirteenth  century.  A  few  original 
minds  like  Sidney  in  his  "  Apologie  "  had  employed  it ; 
but  they  formed  rare  exceptions,  and  in  the  seventeenth 
century  most  men  continued  to  like  either  the  pompous 
prose  with  its  Latin  periods,  held  in  highest  honour 
by  Bacon,  or  the  various  kinds  of  flowery  prose  used 
by  Lodge,  Greene,  Shakespeare  and  Sidney.  So  the 
romance  writers  who  attempted  to  bring  about  a  re- 
action received  no  encouragement  and  were   forgotten 

^  "  The  extravagant  Shepherd,  the  anti-romance,  or  the  history 
of  the  shepherd  Lysis,"  London,  1653,  another  edition  1660. 
Strange  to  say,  besides  some  adaptations  from  Spanish  authors 
{"La  Picara,"  1665;  "Donna  Rosina,"  1700?),  a  translation  of 
Voiture's  Letters,  1657,  the  same  John  Davies  of  Kidwelly,  who  had 
written  this  eloquent  appeal  against  heroical  romances,  translated 
^*  Clelia,"  1656,  and  part  of  "Cleopatra"  in  conjunction  with 
Loveday. 

2  See  also  in  Furetiere's  "  Roman  bourgeois"  how  the  reading  of 
*'Astree"  made  of  Javotte  "la  plus  grande  causeuse  et  la  plus 
coquette  fille  du  quartier  "  (Ed.  Janet,  i.  p.  173). 


404  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

Jess  from  want  of  merit  than  because  even  their  con- 
temporaries paid  no  attention  to  them.  Thinking  to 
open  up  a  new  path,  they  got  entangled  in  a  blind 
alley  where  they  were  left.  The  ground  was  to  be 
broken  anew  by  more  robust  hands  than  theirs,  the 
hands  of  Defoe. 

Some  of  these  attempts  however  are  worthy  of  atten- 
tion, notably  one  in  which  imitation  of  Scarron  and 
Furetiere  is  to  be  found,  entitled  ''  The  Adventures  of 
Co  vent  Garden."  i  The  scene  is  laid  in  London  among 
the  cultivated  upper  middle  class  :  life  is  so  realistically 
represented,  that  this  work,  now  entirely  unknown,  is 
one  of  those  that  best  aid  us  to  re-constitute  that 
society  in  which  Dryden,  Wycherley  and  Otway 
lived. 

Peregrine,  the  hero  of  the  tale,  spends  his  evenings 
at  the  "Rose''  or  at  "Will's,"  Drydens  favourite 
coffee-house,  or  at  the  theatre,  where  the  "  Indian  Em- 
peror," one  of  Dryden's  heroic  dramas,  was  being  played. 
With  the  Lady  Selinda,  in  whose  box  he  sits,  he 
discusses  the  merits  of  the  play,  the  value  of  the  French 
rules  and  the  license  of  Shakespeare  and  Ben  Jonson. 
Many  interesting  remarks  occur  in  these  conversations 
which  seem  put  in  writing  after  nature,  and  are  very 
curious  in  the  history  of  literature.  If  they  do  not 
exactly  recall  the  Moliere  of  the  "  Critique  de  I'Ecole 

^  "  The  Adventures  of  Covent  Garden,  in  imitation  of  Scarron's 
city  romance,"  London,  1699,  i6mo.  *'  Scarron  "  is  here  evidently 
for  "  Furetiere."  This  work,  the  author  of  which  is  unknown, 
has  long  been  forgotten,  though  deserving  a  better  fate.  It  is 
dedicated  "to  all  my  ingenious  acquaintance  at  Will's  coffee- 
house." 


AFTER  SHAKESPEARE.  405 

des  Femmes,"  they  will  recall  Furetiere,  no  insignificant 
praise.  It  is,  besides,  a  compliment  difficult  to  apply 
to  any  other  English  novelist  of  the  period.  Here  is  a 
specimen  of  literary  criticism  if  not  deep,  at  least  lively, 
such  as  was  going  on  at  the  play,  or  in  the  drawing- 
rooms  at  the  time  of  the  Restoration  : 

"  You  criticks,  said  Belinda,  make  a  mighty  sputter 
about  exactness  of  plot,  unity  of  time,  place  and  I  know 
not  what,  which  I  can  never  find  do  any  play  the  least 
good  (Peregrine  smiled  at  her  female  ignorance).  But, 
she  continued,  I  have  one  thing  to  offer  in  this  dispute, 
which  I  think  sufficient  to  convince  you.  I  suppose  the 
chief  design  of  plays  is  to  please  the  people,^  and  get 
the  playhouse  and  poet  a  livelihood } 

"  You  must  pardon  me,  madam,  replyed  Peregrine, 
Instruction  is  the  business  of  plays. 

*'  Sir,  said  the  lady,  make  it  the  business  of  the 
audience  first  to  be  pleased  with  instruction,  and  then  I 
shall  allow  you  it  to  be  the  chief  end  of  plays. 

"  But,  suppose,  madam,  said  he,  that  I  grant  what 
you  lay  down. 

"  Then  sir,  answered  she,  you  must  allow  that 
whatever  plays  most  exactly  answer  this  aforesaid  end 
are  most  exact  plays.  Now  I  can  instance  you  many 
plays,  as  all  those  by  Shakespeare  and  Johnson,  and  the 
most  of  Mr.  Dryden's  which  you  criticks  quarrel  at  as 

^  Cf.  Moliere  :  "  Je  voudrais  bien  savoir  si  la  grande  regie  de 
routes  les  regies  n'est  pas  de  plaire,  et  si  une  piece  de  theatre  qui 
a  attrape  son  but  n'a  pas  suivi  un  bon  chemin.  ...  Laissons  nous 
aller  de  bonne  fbi  aux  choses  qui  nous  prennent  par  les  entrailles 
et  ne  cherchons  point  de  raisonnements  pour  nous  empecher 
d'avoir  du  plaisir  "  ("  Critique  de  I'Ecole  des  Femmes,"  sc.  7). 


4o6  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

irregular,  which  nevertheless  still  continue  to  please  the 
audience  and  are  a  continual  support  to  the  Theatre„ 
There  is  very  little  of  your  unity  of  time  in  any  of 
them,  yet  they  never  fail  to  answer  the  proposed  end 
very  successfully.  .  .  .  Certainly,  these  rules  are  ill 
understood,  or  our  nature  has  changed  since  they  were 
made,  for  we  find  they  have  no  such  effects  now  as  they 
had  formerly.  For  instance,  I  am  told  the  '  Double 
Dealer '  and  *  Plot  and  no  Plot '  are  two  very  exact 
plays,  as  you  call  them,  yet  all  their  unity  of  time, 
place  and  action  neither  pleased  the  audience  nor  got 
the  poets  money.  A  late  play  called  '  Beauty  in 
distress,'  ^  in  which  the  author  no  doubt  sweat  as  much 
in  confining  the  whole  play  to  one  scene,  as  the  scene- 
drawers  should,  were  it  to  be  changed  a  hundred  times, 
this  play  had  indeed  a  commendatory  copy  from  Mr. 
Dryden,  but  I  think  he  had  better  have  altered  the 
scene  and  pleased  the  audience ;  in  short,  had  these 
plays  been  a  little  more  exact  as  you  call  it,  they  had 
all  been  exactly  damn'd." 

Further,  some  traits  of  character  almost  worthy  of 
Fielding  are  to  be  remarked  in  the  course  of  the  tale, 
though,  it  is  true,  it  grows  confused  towards  the  end, 
and  touches  the  melodramatic  in  the  same  way  as  Nash's 
novel.  Thus  the  above  conversation  is  interrupted 
by  the  entrance  of  the  coquette  Emilia,  long  before 
loved  by  Peregrine  who  had  vainly  asked  for  her  hand. 
"  Peregrine  would  have  answered,  but  a  pluck  by  the 
sleeve  obliged  him  to  turn  from  Selinda  to  entertain 
a   lady  mask'd   who    had    given    him   the  nudg.     He 

^  "  Double  Dealer,"  by  Congreve  ;  "  Plot  and  no  Plot,"  by  Dennis  ; 
Beauty  in  distress,"  by  Motteux. 


AFTER  SHAKESPEARE.  407 

presently  knew  her  to  be  Emilia,  who  whispered  him 
in  the  ear  :  I  find  sir,  what  Guyomar  said  just  now  is 
very  true  : 

That  love  which  first  took  root  will  first  decay ; 
That  of  a  fresher  date  will  longer  stay. 

Peregrine  tho  surprised  was  pleased  with  her  pretty 
reprimand,  being  delivered  without  any  anger,  but  in 
murmuring^  complaining  accents^  which  never  fail  to 
move.   .   ." 

Thus  again,  Peregrine  goes  to  the  famous  St.  Bar- 
tholomew fair,  which  was  still,  as  in  Ben  Jonson's 
time,  a  place  of  general  meeting.  '*  Lord  C."  is 
there  discovered,  who  had  a  masked  lady  with  him  ; 
she  pulls  off  her  mask  and  smiles  at  Peregrine,  who 
again  recognizes  Emiha.  The  mixed  impressions  that 
this  sight  makes  on  the  hero  are  analysed  in  these 
terms  : 

"  He  took  a  secret  pride  in  rivalling  so  great  a  man, 
and  it  confirmed  his  great  opinion  of  Emilia's  beauty  to 
see  her  admir'd  by  so  accomplish't  a  person  and  absolute 
a  courtier  as  my  lord  C.  These  considerations  aug- 
menting his  love  increased  his  jealousy  also,  and  every 
little  familiarity  that  my  Lord  us'd,  heighiti^ned  his  love 
to  her  and  hatred  to  his  Lordship  ;  he  lov'd  her  for 
being  admir'd  by  my  Lord,  yet  hated  my  Lord  for 
loving  her." 

The  vain  woman  for  her  part  is  sufficiently  interested 
in  Peregrine  to  put  a  stop  to  a  dawning  passion  which 
she  discovers  in  him  for  another  woman,  and  which 
might  have  ended  in  a  marriage  ;  but  not  at  any 
rate  enough  to  repay  his  sacrifice  by  true  love.  Emilia's 


4o8  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

artifices  are  studied  with  much  skill,  and  the  author 
seems,  here  too,  to  be  imitating  nature,  and  recount- 
ing personal  experiences  :  "  ^orum  pars  magna  fui^' 
as  he  says  on  the  title-page  of  his  book.  At  one  time 
Emilia  feels  that  Peregrine  is  escaping  her  ;  what  does 
she  conceive  will  keep  him  attached  to  her  ?  At  such  a 
crisis  she  is  shrewd  enough  not  to  resort  to  vulgar 
coquetries,  feeling  that  they  are  no  longer  in  season. 
With  excellent  instinct  she  guesses  that  the  only  means 
of  recovering  possession  of  honest  Peregrine  is  to  appeal 
to  his  good  heart :  instead  of  promising  him  her  favours, 
she  asks  of  him  a  service.  Peregrine  would  have  de- 
spised himself  had  he  not  rendered  it,  and  it  is  only 
afterwards  that  he  perceives  his  chain  is  by  this  means 
newly  forged.  Emilia  has  fixed  ideas  on  the  usefulness 
of  men  of  this  sort,  and  puts  them  very  clearly  before 
Lord  C.  Only  unsubstantial  favours  must  ever  be 
granted  them,  in  order  that  the  favours  by  which  they 
see  their  rivals  profit,  may  not  give  them  too  gloomy 
suspicions.  They  are  very  useful  for  defending  publicly 
their  mistress*  honour ;  they  must  if  possible  be  men 
of  a  lofty  and  refined  mind,  for  only  such  persons  are 
simple  enough  to  feed  their  passions  on  nothing. 

The  direct  satire  and  caricature  of  heroical  novels  in 
the  style  of  Scudery  and  La  Calprenede,  which  had 
been  also  practised  in  France,  is  to  be  found  in  a 
few  English  tales,  of  which  the  best,  as  entirely  for- 
gotten as  the  worst,  is  entitled  "  Zelinda,  an  excellent 
new  romance,  translated  from  the  French  of  Monsieur 
de  Scudery."  i      With   an   amusing  unconcern,    and  a 

^  By  T.  D.,  perhaps  T.  DufFet  (Bullen),  London,  Bentley,  1676, 
izmo. 


AFTER  SHAKESPEARE.  409 

very  lively  pen,  the  author  hastens,  on  the  first  page, 
to  give  the  He  to  his  title,  and  to  inveigh  against  the 
impertinences  of  publishers  in  general.  "  Book-sellers 
too  are  grown  such  saucy  masterly  companions,  they 
do  even  what  they  please  ;  my  friend  Mr.  Bentley  calls 
this  piece  an  excellent  romance  ;  there  I  confess  his 
justice  and  ingenuity.  But  then  he  stiles  it  a  transla- 
tion, when  (as  Sancho  Panca  said  in  another  case)  'tis 
no  more  so  then  the  mother  that  bore  me.  Ingrateful 
to  envy  his  friend's  fame.  .  .  .  But  I  write  not  for 
glory,  nor  self-interest,  nor  to  gratifie  kindness  nor 
revenge.  Now  the  impertinent  critical  reader  will  be 
ready  to  ask,  for  what  then  }  For  that  and  all  other 
questions  to  my  prejudice,  I  will  borrow  Mr.  Bays's 
answer  and  say.  Because — I  gad  sir,  I  will  not  tell 
you — I  desire  to  please  but  one  person  in  the  world, 
and,  as  one  dedicates  his  labours  and  heroes  to  Calista, 
another  to  Urania,  &C.3  at  the  feet  of  her  my  adored 
Celia,  I  lay  all  my  giants  and  monsters.'* 

There  follows  a  story  in  the  manner  of  Scudery,  the 
plot  of  which,  however,  is  drawn  not  from  Scudery,  but 
from  Voiture,!  and  which  is  treated  in  a  playful  accent, 
and  with  an  air  of  persiflage  that  reminds  us  of  Byron's 
tone  when  relating  the  adventures  of  Don  Juan.  It  is 
Voiture  indeed,  but  Voiture  turned  inside- out.  As 
with  Byron,  the  raillery  is  from  time  to  time  inter- 

^  From  his  "  Histoire  d'Alcidalis  et  Zelide."  Voiture  had  begun 
it  in  1633  iri  the  style  fashionable  at  the  Hotel  de  Rambouillet,  and 
even,  as  he  pretends,  with  the  help  of  Mdlle.  de  Rambouillet,  to 
whom  it  is  dedicated.  It  was  left  unfinished  and  was  published  after 
his  death,  being  completed  by  Desbarres.  A  regular  translation  of 
it  was  published  in  English  in  1678. 


4 lo  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

rupted  by  poetical  flights,  and,  as  with  him,  licentious 
scenes  abound  and  are  described  with  peculiar  com- 
placency. 

Alcidalis  and  Zelinda,  both  pursued  by  a  contrary 
fate,  adore  one  another,  but  at  a  distance :  for  tempests, 
pirates,  family  feuds  separate  them,  according  to  the 
classical  standard  of  the  grave  romances  of  the  day. 
They  mutually  seek  one  another  ;  Alcidalis,  who  only 
dreams  of  Zelinda,  has  every  good  fortune  he  does 
not  want.  He  believes  his  fiancee  has  been  married 
to  an  elderly  Italian  duke  distractedly  in  love  with 
the  young  princess  :  ''As  we  are  never  so  fond  of 
flowers,  as  in  the  beginning  of  spring,  or  towards  the 
end  of  autumne  ;  the  first  for  their  novelty,  and  the 
others  because  we  think  we  shall  see  them  no  more  : 
so  the  pleasures  of  love  are  at  no  time  so  dear  to  us  as 
in  the  beginning  of  our  youth  and  the  approaches  of 
our  age."  Alcidalis,  deceiving  the  jealous  vigilance  of 
the  duke,  makes  the  tour  of  a  promontory  in  a  boat  by 
night,  climbs  to  a  window  by  means  of  a  rope-ladder, 
and  in  the  second  visit  gains  the  favour  of  the  duchess, 
who  was  not  at  all  the  lady  whom  he  thought  to  find. 
"  Ye  gods  !  do  I  again  behold  the  fair  Zelinda.^  cries 
Alcidalis  in  his  joy  (a  very  pertinent  question,  for  it 
is  to  be  remembred  there  was  no  light)." 

Very  unseasonably  the  husband  arrives ;  Alcidalis  has 
as  much  difficulty  in  escaping  as  Don  Juan ;  and  the 
duchess,  just  like  the  first  mistress  of  Byron's  hero, 
bursts  out  into  reproaches  against  her  bewildered  hus- 
band, who  has  much  trouble  to  obtain  her  pardon.  "  O 
woman  !  woman !  "  continues  the  author  in  an  apo- 
strophe Byron  would  not  have  disowned  ;  "  thou  dark 


AFTER  SHAKESPEARE.  411 

abysse  of  subtility ;  'tis  easier  to  trace  a  wandring 
swallow  through  the  pathless  air,  then  to  explicate 
the  crafty  wyndings  of  thy  love  or  malice." 

During  this  time,  Alcidalis  in  flight,  comes  "  to  the 
sea  side,  where  a  ship  being  just  ready  to  leave  the 
port  (for  that  must  never  be  wanting  to  a  hero  upon 
a  ramble),*'  he  gets  on  board  and  resumes  his  search 
for  the  true  Zelinda.  He  encounters  many  new  adven- 
tures, and  in  a  battle  dangerously  wounds  a  warrior. 
This  warrior  is  a  woman,  Zelinda  herself.  The  lovers 
recognize  one  another,  embrace,  and  relate  their  ad- 
ventures. Alcidalis  omits  nothing  except  the  episode 
of  the  duchess,  and  shows  himself  as  fond  a  lover  as  at 
starting  :  "  Were  I  racked  to  ten  thousand  pieces,  as 
every  part  of  a  broken  mirrour  presents  an  entire  face, 
in  every  part  of  Alcidalis  would  appear  the  bright 
image  of  my  adored  Zelinda."  At  length  they  are 
married  ;  the  couple  recline  at  their  banquet  of  love, 
"  and  if  no  other  pen  raises  them,  they  shall  lye  there 
till  Doomsday." 

V. 

Thus  in  two  different  ways  a  reaction  showed  itself 
against  the  literature  in  fashion,  and  the  merits  of  those 
who  attempted  it  only  made  its  failure  the  more  felt. 
The  caricature  of  the  heroic  romance  and  the  attempt 
at  the  novel  of  common  life  were  without  effect.  Their 
authors  had  come  too  soon,  and  remained  isolated  ;  the 
false  heroism  now  scoffed  at  in  France  continued  in 
England  until  the  eighteenth  century.  The  writers 
under  Queen  Anne,  in  order  to  destroy  it,  were  obliged 

24 


412  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

to  recommence  the  whole  campaign.  Addison,  as  we 
have  seen,  found  heroism  still  in  fashion,  and  the  great 
romances  in  their  places  in  ladies'  libraries.  They  were 
still  being  reprinted.  There  is,  for  example,  an  Engl- 
ish edition  of  "Cassandra"  dated  1725,  and  one  of 
"Cleopatra"  dated  1731.  Fielding  saw  heroism  still 
in  possession  of  the  stage,  and  he  satirized  it  in  his 
amusing  "  Tom  Thumb."  Carey  attacked  it  in  his 
"  Chrononotontologos."  ^ 

The  hundred  years  which  follow  Shakespeare's 
death  are,  therefore,  taken  altogether,  a  period  of  little 
invention  and  progress  for  romance  literature.  The 
only  new  development  it  takes,  consists  in  the 
exaggeration  of  the  heroic  element,  of  which  there  was 
enough  already  in  many  an  Elizabethan  novel  ;  it 
consists,  in  fact,  in  the  magnifying  of  a  defect.  The 
imitation  of  France  only  resulted  in  absurd  productions 
which  were  so  successful  and  filled  the  literary  stage  so 
entirely  that  they  left  no  space  for  other  kinds  of 
romances.  In  vain  did  a  few  intelligent  persons,  such  as 
the  authors  of  "  The  Adventures  of  Covent  Garden  " 
and  of  "  Zelinda,"  attempt  to  bring  about  a  reaction ; 
their  words  found  no  echo.  The  other  kinds  of  novels 
started  in  Shakespearean  times  continued  to  be  culti- 
vated, but  were  not  improved.  The  picaresque 
romance  as  Nash  had  understood  it,  includes  in  the 
seventeenth  century  no  original  specimen  but  Richard 

^  These  two  pieces  which  appeared  in  1730  and  1734  are  not, 
as  is  often  stated,  caricatures  of  classical  tragedy.  In  the  same  way 
as  the  Duke  of  Buckingham  in  his  "Rehearsal"  (1671),  Fielding 
and  Carey  ridicule  heroic  drama,  born  of  romance  a  la  Scudery,  as 
Dryden  and  his  followers  had  understood  it. 


AFTER  SHAKESPEARE.  413 

Head's  "  English  Rogue,"  i  one  of  the  worst  compo- 
sitions in  this  style  to  be  found  in  any  literature.  The 
allegorical,  social,  and  political  novel,  as  inaugurated 
by  Sir  Thomas  More,  continued  by  Bacon,  by  Joseph 
Hall,  Bishop  of  Norwich,  and  by  Godwin,^  that  novel 
which  was  to  gain  new  life  in  the  hands  of  Swift  and 
Johnson,  is,  if  we  except  Bunyan's  eloquent  manual  of 
devotion,  mainly  represented  in  the  second  half  of  the 
century  by  barren  allegories,  such  as  Harrington's 
"Oceana,"  1656,  and  Ingelow's  "  Bentivolio  and 
Urania," 1 660  ;  or  by  short  stories  like  '^The  perplex'd 
Prince,"  "  The  Court  Secret,"  &c.3    When  we  have  read 

^  "  The  English  Rogue  described  in  the  life  of  Meriton 
Latroon,"  London,  1665,  8vo,  continued  by  F,  Kirkman,  1661, 
et  seg.,  4  vols,  (reprinted  by  Pearson). 

^  The  "Mundus  alter  et  idem,"  by  Hall,  was  written  about 
1600,  and  appeared  some  years  later  on  the  continent,  without 
date.  "The  Man  in  the  Moon  or  a  discourse  of  a  voyage  thither," 
by  F.  Godwin,  appeared  in  1638,  and  was  translated  into  French, 
which  allowed  Cyrano  de  Bergerac  to  become  acquainted  with  it  : 
"  L'Homme  dans  la  Lune  ou  le  voyage  chimerique  fait  au  monde 
de  la  Lune"  .  .  .  *by  Dominique  Gonzales  (pseud.),  Paris,  1648, 
8vo.  The  translation  is  by  that  same  Baudoin  who  had  already 
turned  Sidney's  "Arcadia"  into  French.  Barclay's  "Argenis" 
belongs  to  European  rather  than  to  English  literature. 

3  "The  perplex'd  Prince,"  by  T.  S.  In  this  romance  Westenia 
is  Wales;  Otenia,  England;  Bogland,  Scotland;  the  amours  of 
Charles  IL  and  those  of  the  Duke  of  York  (the  Prince  of  Purdino) 
are  related  in  it  under  fictitious  names.  "  The  Court  Secret," 
1689  ;  Selim  L  and  Selim  IL  represent  Charles  I.  and  Charles  IL  ; 
Cha-abas,  Louis  XIV.,  &c.  In  "  Oceana,"  Parthenia  is  Queen 
Elizabeth ;  Morpheus,  James  I.  ;  in  Ingelow's  work,  Bentivolio 
represents  "Good  will,"  and  Urania  "Heavenly  light."  "Oceana" 
and  "  Bentivolio "  are  didactic  treatises  rather  than  romances  ; 
the  first  is  a  political  treatise,  and  the  second  a  religious  treatise, 


4 1 4  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

ten  pages  of  these  it  is  difficult  to  speak  of  them  with 
coohiess  and  without  an  aggressive  animosity  towards 
their  authors. 

Persistent  and  close  analysis  of  human  emotion  and 
of  the  passion  of  love  in  the  way  in  which  Sir  Philip 
Sidney  had  caught  sight  of  it,  disappeared  from  the  novel 
until  the  day  when  a  second  "Pamela"  was  to  figure  on 
the  literary  stage,  and  to  fill  with  emotion  all  London 
and  Paris,  down  even  to  Crebillon  fils,  who  was  to  write 
to  Lord  Chesterfield  :  "  Without  *  Pamela  '  we  should 
not  know  what  to  read  or  to  say/'  And  at  reading  it, 
the  author  of  "  The  Sopha  "  was  "  moved  to  tears." 

One  work  alone  was  published  towards  the  end  of 
the  century  in  which  an  original  thought  is  to  be 
found,  the  "  Oroonoko "  ^  of  Mrs.  Behn.  The  senti- 
ment that  animates  it  is  of  another  epoch,  and 
belongs  to  a  quite  peculiar  class  of  novel  ;  with  her 
begins  the  philosophical  novel,  crowded  with  dis- 
sertations on  the  world  and  humanity,  on  the  vanity 
of  religions,  the  innocence  of  negroes,  and  the  purity 
of  savages.  These  are  the  ideas  of  Rousseau  before 
Rousseau  :    other  ideas   of  Rousseau  had  been,  as  we 


an  enormous  morality  in  prose.  "The  Pilgrim's  Progress"  must 
be  placed  among  religious  literature  properly  so-called,  as  being 
its  master-work  in  England. 

^  ''The  plays  histories  and  novels  of  the  ingenious  Mrs.  Aphra 
Behn,"  London  (Pearson's  reprint),  1871,  6  vols.,  8vo,  vol.  i. 
"Oroonoko  or  the  royal  slave,"  first  printed,  1698.  The  adven- 
tures and  virtues  of  Oroonoko  made  him  very  popular  ;  his  story  was 
transferred  to  the  stage  by  Th.  Southern  ;  his  life  was  translated 
into  German,  and  into  French  (by  La  Place,  1745).  Mrs.  Behn's. 
other  novels  show  much  less  originality.      She  died  in  1689. 


AFTER  SHAKESPEARE.  415 

have  seen,  anticipated,  in  the  history  of  the  novel,  by 

Remains  of  the  ordinary  heroic  style  are  of  course 
not  wanting.  Being  love-struck  Oroonoko,  an  African 
negro,  well  read  in  the  classics,  refuses  to  fight,  and 
following  Achilles'  example,  retires  to  his  tent.  "  For 
the  world,  said  he,  it  was  a  trifle  not  worth  his  care. 
Go,  continued  he,  sighing,  and  divide  it  amongst  you, 
and  reap  with  joy  what  you  so  vainly  prize  !  "  In  try- 
ing to  carry  out  this  advice  his  companions  are  utterly 
routed,  until  after  two  days  Oroonoko  consents  to 
take  up  his  arms  again,  and  the  victors  are  at  once  all 
put  to  flight.  Oroonoko's  death  is  also  in  the  heroical 
style,  but  a  peculiar  sort  of  heroism  which  recalls 
Scudery,  and  at  the  same  time  Fenimore  Cooper. 

But  more  striking  are  the  parts  in  which  the  man- 
ners of  the  savages  are  compared  to  those  of  civilized 
nations.  "  Everything  is  well,"  Rousseau  was  to  say 
later,  "  when  it  comes  fresh  from  the  hands  of  the 
Maker  of  things ;  everything  degenerates  in  the  hands 
of  man."  ^  Mrs.  Behn  expressed  many  years  before 
the  very  same  ideas  ;  her  Oroonoko  has  been  educated 
by  a  Frenchman  who  ''  was  a  man  of  very  little  religion, 
yet  he  had  admirable  morals  and  a  brave  soul,"  an 
ancestor  obviously  of  Rousseau  himself,  and  a  fit  tutor 
for  this  black  "  Emile."  The  aborigines  of  Surinam 
live  in  a  state  of  perfection  which  remi-nds  Mrs.  Behn 
of  Adam  and  Eve  before  the  fall  :  "  These  people 
represented  to  me  an  absolute  idea  of  the  first  state 
of  innocence,  before  man  knew  how  to  sin  :  and  'tis 

^  Beginning  of  "  Emile." 


4i6  THE  ENGLISH  NO  VEL. 

most  evident  and  plain  that  single  nature  is  the  most 
harmless,  inoffensive  and  virtuous  mistress.  'Tis  she 
alone,  if  she  were  permitted,  that  better  instructs  the 
world  than  all  the  inventions  of  man.  Religion  would 
here  but  destroy  that  tranquillity  they  possess  by 
ignorance,  and  laws  would  but  teach  'em  to  know 
offences  of  which  now  they  have  no  notion.  They 
made  once  mourning  and  fasting  for  the  death  of  the 
English  governor  who  had  given  his  hand  to  come  on 
such  a  day  to  'em  and  neither  came  nor  sent ;  believing 
when  a  man's  word  is  past,  nothing  but  death  could  or 
should  prevent  his  keeping  it." 

The  words  *'  humanity,"  "  mankind,"  are  repeated 
also  with  a  frequency  worthy  of  Rousseau,  and  the 
religion  of  humanity  is  set  in  opposition  to  the  religion 
of  God  with  a  clearness  foreshadowing  the  theories  of 
Auguste  Comte.  When  the  sea  captain  refuses  to  take 
the  word  of  Oroonoko  as  a  pledge  equivalent  to  his 
own,  *'  which  if  he  should  violate,  he  must  expect 
eternal  torments  in  the  world  to  come," — "  Is  that  all 
the  obligations  he  has  to  be  just  to  his  oath  ?  replyed 
Oroonoko.  Let  him  know,  I  swear  by  my  honour  ; 
which  to  violate,  would  not  only  render  me  contemptible 
and  despised  by  all  brave  and  honest  men,  and  so  give 
me  perpetual  pain,  but  it  would  be  eternally  offending 
and  displeasing  to  all  mankind,  harming,  betraying,  cir- 
cumventing and  outraging  all  men."  ^ 

Most  of  these  ideas,  including  an  embryo-taste  for 
landscape  painting,  were  to  be  cherished  and  eloquently 
defended  by  Rousseau.     Mrs.  Behn,  as  a  novelist,  can 

^  "  Oroonoko,"'|/(^?V.,  pp.  121,  79,  135. 


AFTER  SHAKESPEARE.  417 

only  be  studied  with  the  authors  of  the  middle  of  the 
eighteenth  century  ;  she  carries  us  at  once  beyond  the 
times  of  Defoe,  Richardson,  and  Fielding,  and  takes 
us  among  the  precursors  of  the  French  Revolution. 
With  the  change  she  foreshadows,  philosophy  and  social 
science  are  perhaps  more  concerned  than  the  novel 
proper. 

It  can,  all  things  considered,  be  stated  with  truth  that, 
between  the  age  of  Elizabeth,  and  the  age  of  Anne  and 
the  Georges,  there  is  in  the  history  of  the  novel  a  long 
period  of  semi-stagnation.  The  seventeenth  century, 
which  furnishes  hardly  any  important  name,  added 
very  little,  apart  from  an  exaggerated  heroism,  to  the 
art  of  the  novel.  Defoe,  Richardson  and  Fielding  are, 
as  novelists,  more  nearly  related  to  the  men  of  the  time 
of  Shakespeare  than  to  the  men  of  the  time  of  Dryden. 
They  have  been  thus  so  completely  separated  from  their 
literary  ancestors  that  the  connection  has  been  usually 
forgotten.     It  cannot,  however,  be  doubted. 

Now  that  we  have  carried  so  far  this  sketch  of  the 
history  of  the  early  English  novel,  as  far  indeed  as  the 
time  of  writers  whose  works  are  still  our  daily  reading, 
we  have  to  take  leave  of  our  heroes,  picaroons,  and 
monsters,  of  Arthur  and  Lancelot,  Euphues  and 
Menaphon,  Pyrocles  and  Rosalind,  Jack  Wilton  and 
Peregrine,  Oroontades  and  Parthenissa ;  nor  let  us  for- 
get to  include  in  this  farewell  our  Lamias,  Mantichoras, 
dragons,  and  all  the  menagerie  of  Topsell  and  of  Lyly. 
Mummified,  buried  and  forgotten  as  most  of  these 
romances  have  long  been,  they  managed  somehow  not 
to  die  childless,  but  left  behind  them  the  seed  of  better 


4i8 


THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL. 


things.     '^  No,  those  days  are  gone  away,"  says  Keats, 
thinking  of  the  legends  of  early  times, 

"  And  their  hours  are  old  and  grey, 
And  their  minutes  buried  all 
Under  the  down  trodden  pall 
Of  the  leaves  of  many  years.  .  .  . 
Gone,  the  merry  morris  din  ; 
Gone,  the  song  of  Gamelyn  ; 
Gone,  the  tough-belted  outlaw ; 
All  are  gone  away  and  past." 

With  them  many  reputations  are  gone.  White  fingers 
circled  with  gold  no  longer  turn  over  the  pages  of 
"Euphues"  or  ''Arcadia."  But  the  writings  of  the 
descendants  of  Greene  and  Nash  and  Sidney  afford 
endless  delight  to-day.  And  that  is  why  these  old 
authors  deserve  not  the  lip-tribute  of  cold  respect,  but 
the  heart's  offering  of  warmest  gratitude  ;  for  they  have 
had  the  most  numerous  and  the  most  brilliant  posterity, 
perhaps  the  most  loved,  that  literary  initiators  have 
ever  had  in  any  time  or  country. 


AQUARIUS. 


INDEX. 


INDEX, 


A. 

Acolastus,  316 

Actors,  Nash  on,  316;  as  play- 
wrights, 156-158 

Addison,  25,  381,  396,  412 

*'  Adventures  of  Covent  Garden," 
404-408  ;  412 

"Alcida,"  Greene's,  112,  155 

Alexander,  poem  imitated  from 
the  French  romance,  39 

Alfarache,  Guzman  d',  292,  293, 
294 

Alfred,  literature  under,  33 

"  Almahide,"  370 

*'  Almanzor  and  Almahide,"  392 

Amadis  of  Gaul,  Munday's  trans- 
lation of,  349 

Amourists,  The,  245 

"  Anatomic  of  Absurditie,"  Nash's, 
169  note^  279 

Andrews,  Dr.,  Sermons  by,  382 

"  Andromaque,"  Racine's,  English 
translation  of,  395,  396 

Angennes,  Julie  d',  352 

Anglo-Saxons,  songs  and  legends 
of  the,  32  ;  gloom  of  the  litera- 
ture of  the,  33,  34 


"Apologie  for  Poetrie,"  Sidney's, 
229-233;  235,  254,  255,  301 

Apulccus,  86 

"Arbasto,"  155  ;    175-178 

"Arcadia,"  Sidney's,  226,  229  ; 
account  and  criticism  of,  234- 
262  ;  popularity,  imitations  and 
translations  of,  262-283  ;  criti- 
cised in  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury by  Addison,  Cowper  and 
Young,  270-272  ;  Milton's  and 
Horace  Walpole's  criticism  of, 
272;  Niceron  on,  283;  draw- 
ings from  editions  of,   16,   17, 

273,  275»  '2-11 
"  Arcadianism,"  Dekker  and  Ben 

Jonson  on,  261 
Arcady,  land  of,  218,  219 
Architecture,  Elizabethan,  12,  99, 

100,  loi,  102 
Aretino,  298,  348 
"Argalus  and  Parthenia," Quarks', 

16,  264,  267;  as  a  chap-book, 

271-275 
D'Argenson's  opinion  of  England, 

24 
"Ariosto,"43,  173,237,363;  Ha- 


42  2 


INDEX. 


rington's  translation  of,  13,  ']6^ 

77,  79»  80,  366 
"Arisbas,"  Dickenson's,  146 
Arthur,  the  Celtic  hero,  39;  and 

his  knights,  35 
Arundel,  Earl  of,  159 
Ascham,  Roger,  denounces  foreign 

travel    and   literature,   71,   72, 

73,  74,  75,  79  ^^^^,  85,  318; 
condemns  Morte  d'Arthur,  63, 
74  ;  on  the  study  of  Greek  and 
Latin,  87,  88  ;  his  views  on  the 
old  romances  endorsed  by  Nash, 
307,  308 
"  Astree,"  d'Urfe's,  205,  247,  364, 

365 
"Astrophel  and  Stella,"  229,  233, 

234 
D'Aubigne,  398 
"Aucassin  and  Nicolete,"  36,  37, 

59,  60,  353 

B. 
Bacon,   Francis,    24,  43  ;    "  New 

Atlantis,"     50 ;     and     English 

prose,   52  ;    essay  on  Gardens, 

241  ;  300,403,  413 
Bacon,  Friar,  stories  about,  28 
Bandello,  81  note,  86,  147 
"  Baron  de  Foeneste,"  398 
Baudoin,   translation    of    Sidney's 
"Arcadia"  into  French,  276-280 
Baxter's     "Sir     Philip    Sidney's 

Ourania,"  262 
Beattie,  26 
Beckett,  engraver,  19 
Behn,  Mrs.,  414-417 
Bell's  "  Theatre,"  engraving  from, 

H,  97 


Belleforest's  tales  translated  and 
imitated  by  Paynter,  86  ;  "His- 
toires  tragiques,"  147 

"Bentivolio  and  Urania,"  Inge- 
low's,  413 

"Beowulf,"  the  oldest  English 
romance,  1 1  ;  facsimile  of  the 
beginning  of  the  MS.,  31  ;  33, 
34;  want  of  tenderness  in,  35 

"  Berenice, '  Racine's,  translated 
by  Otway,  397 

"  Berger  extravagant,"  21,  280, 
398,  401 

Bergerac,  Cyrano  de,  his  "  Etats 
et  empires  de  la  lune  et  du 
soleil,"  50;  his  "  Pedant  joue," 
128  note;  style  of,  258; 
humour  of,   289,   290 

Berncrs,  Lord,  106-107 

Bestiaries,  108,  iii,  112,  115, 
116,  119 

Blount,  Charles,  Lord  Mountjoy, 
Earl  of  Devonshire,  227 

Blount,  Edward,  publisher  of 
Lyly's  comedies,  137,  138 

Boccaccio,  43  ;  "Filocopo," 
"Amorous  Fiammetta,"  "De- 
cameron," English  translations 
of,  75,  jG  ;  86 

Boileau,  258,  356  note,  363,  390 

Borde,  Dr.  Andrew,  288,  289,  326 

Bossuet,  387 

Bovon  of  Hanstone,  poem  imitated 
from  a  French  romance,  39 

Boyle,  Roger,  Lord  Broghill,  384- 

389 
Bozon,  Nicole,  1 1 1 
Breton,  Nicholas,  192,  198-202 
Brunne,  Robert  Manningde,  38,39 


INDEX. 


423 


BuUen,  22 

Bunyan,  John,  159,  413 
Burghley  House,  12,  loi,  102 
Byron's  "  Don  Juan,"  409,  410 

C. 

Caesarius,  48,  49 
Callot,  317,  337 
Camden  Society,  18 
"  Campaspe,"  Lyly's,  138 
Carey,  412 

"Carte  du  Tendre,"  19,  359,  361 

"Cassandra,"      396,     403,     412; 

"  Cassandre,"    362,    364,    382, 

383  _ 
Castiglione's  "  Courtier,"  76 
Caxton's    woodcut    of  Chaucer's 

pilgrims,    12,  45  j  his   editions 

of    Chaucer     and    work    as     a 

printer,  52-55  ;  60 
"  Cent  Nouvelles,"  47,  48 
Cervantes,  43,  88,  399 
Chappelain,  Mdlle.  G.,  translator 

of  Sidney's  "Arcadia,"  277-280 
Chapelain,   Jean,  author  of  "  La 

Pucelle,"  294,  350,  357 
Characters,  books  of,  201-2  note 
Charlemagne,  poem  imitated  from 

French  romance  of,  39 
Charles  I.,   84;    250,   252  ;   366, 

382 
Charles  II.,  381 
Charles  IX.,  220 
C hartley,  223 
Chateaubriand,  231,  283 
Chateaumorand,  Diane  de,  276 
Chatterton,  26 
Chaucer,    Caxton's    engraving  of 

his  pilgrims,   12,  45  ;  a  story- 


teller, but  with  small  influence 
on  the  Elizabethan  novel,  43, 
44  ;  homage  of  Pope  and  Dry- 
den  to,  44;  faculty  of  observa- 
tion in,  49  ;  and  mediseval 
story  -  tellers,  89  ;  "  Cooke's 
Tale,"  204  ;  read  by  Nash, 
296 

Chesterfield,  Lord,  414 

Chettle's  edition  of  "  Groats- 
worth  of  Wit,"  165  note^  321  ; 
"Piers  Plain,"  328,  330,  331 

"  Chrononotontologos,"  412 

Cibber,  Theophilus,  381 

"Civile  Conversation,"  Guazzo's, 
72,  1%  76 

"Clarissa  Harlowe,"  25,  26,  31 

"Clelie,"  361,  364,  370;  frontis- 
piece of  "La  Fausse,"  20,  375 

"Cleopatra,"  412;  Queen,  as 
represented  on  the  English 
stage,  14,  97;  "Cleopatre," 
364,   369  ;  frontispiece  of,  20, 

371 
Clovis,  354 

Colet,  Dean  of  St.  Paul's,  87 
Comte,  Auguste,  416 
Conde,  352,  357 

"  Contes  Moralises  "  Bozon's,  1 1 1 
Cooper,  Fenimore,  415 
Copland,  12 
Corneille,    278,    282,    343,    355, 

363,  373 

Coryat,  302  note 

Cotterel,  Sir  Charles,  translator 
of  "Cassandre,"  373 

"  Cour  Bergere,"  play  derived  by 
Mareschal  from  Sidney's  "  Ar- 
cadia," 282 


424 


INDEX. 


"  Court  Secret,"  41 3 

Cowper,  on  Sidney's  "Arcadia," 
271 

Coxon  (or  Cockson),  Thomas,  en- 
graver, portraits  by,  I  3 

Crebillon //j,  414 

Cromwell,  84,  363,  381 

Crowne's  "  Pandion  and  Amphi- 
genia,"  19,389-391  5  39^,  395 

D. 

Davenport,  173 

Davies,  John,  drawing  from  his 
translation  of  Sorel's  "  Berger 
extravagant,"  21 

Day,  John,  "  He  of  Guls,"  263  ; 
collaborator  of  Dekker,  331 

"Debat  de  folic  et  d'amour,"  173 

Dedekind,  339 

Defoe,  25,  26;  protest  against 
the  abbreviation  of  "  Robinson 
Crusoe,"  123,  124;  199,260, 
270,  294,  313,  320,  335,  345, 
348,  390,  404,417 

Dekker,  portrait  of,  19;  on  Ar- 
cadianism  2ind.  Euphuis?n,  261  ;  on 
Nash  in  the  Elysian  fields,  327  ; 
plays  and  pamphlets  by,  330- 
346  ;  love  of  literature,  332  ; 
gaiety,  333;  Lamb  on,  332  ; 
Nash  and,  334;  "  Wonderfull 
Yeare,"  335-338;  advice  on 
behaviour  at  a  play-house,  340- 

343 
Desperriers,  Bonaventure,  86 
Devereux,    Penelope,    afterwards 
Lady  Rich,  Sidney's  "  Stella," 
223,  224,  225,  227,  228 
Dickens,  Charles,  124 


Dickenson,  imitator  of  Lyly,  145, 
146,  161  note 

Disguises,  fondness  for,  in  Eliza- 
bethan times,  237-239 

"Don    Simonides,"    Rich's,    146, 

147 
Drayton,  331 
I   Dryden,  354,  363,  389,  392,396, 

!      404,417 

Du  Bartas,  271 

Du  Bellay,  70 

Duplcix,  Scipion,  historiographer 

royal,  354 
Dyce,  reprint  by,  18 


"  Ecclesiastical  Polity,"  Hooker's, 
382 

Eliot,  George,  36,  124 

Elizabeth,  Queen,  portrait  by 
Rogers,  11,  96,  256;  by  Zuc- 
chero,  14  ;  in  pastoral  romance, 
218  ;  manners  of,  91-96;  learn- 
ing of,  92  ;  toilettes  of,  92  ; 
Hentzner  on,  96 

Elizabethan  houses,  loi,  102  ; 
dress,  128  ;  literary  men,  161  ; 
amusements,  18,  287,  298 

"  Emile,"  Rousseau's,  415 

"  Empress  of  Morocco,"  Settle's, 

393,  395 
"  Endimion,"   Lyly's,    138,    139; 

Gombauld's,  19,  367,  369 
English,  ancestry  of  the,  40, 41,42; 

effect  of  the  French  conquest 

on  the  literature  of  the,  43 
"English    Adventures,"     Boyle's, 

388,  389 
"English  Rogue,"  Head's,  413 


INDEX. 


425 


Erasmus,  51,  87,  88,  348 

Essex,  Earl  of,  159 

"Euphues,"  Lyly's,  103-142; 
written  for  women,  104,  105  ; 
on  women  in,  127-130,  133; 
natural  history  in,  107,  108- 
120;  moral  teaching  in,  123, 
124,  127;  bringing  up  of 
children  in,  130-132;  popu- 
larity of,  137-142  ;  Nash  on, 
139,  140  ;  abbreviation  of,  141 

"  Euphues  his  censure  to  Phi- 
lautus,"  Greene's,  146,  168 

Euphuism^  Lyly  and,  105  ;  accli- 
matization of,  in  England,  106, 
107;  Shakespeare  on,  140  ; 
Dekker  and,  261 

Exeter,  Joseph  of,  38 

Exeter,  Marquis  of,  seat  of  the, 
12  ' 

F. 

Fayette,  Mme.  de  la,  397 

Fenelon's,  "  Telemaque,"  50 ; 
"Lettre  a  FAcademie,"  229 

Fenton's,  "  Tragicall  Discourses," 
80,  81 

Fielding,  25,  124,  270,  313,  317, 
406,  412,  417 

Floire  and  Blanchefleur,  36 

Florio's  Montaigne,  227 

Ford,  Emanuel,  disciple  of  Lyly, 
192;  "Parismus,"  193-198; 
collaborator  of  Dekker,  331 

Fortescue's,  "  Foreste,"  81 

Fouquet,  281 

Fournival,  Richard  de,  107,  108 

Fox,  George,  the  Quaker,  158 

"  Francesco's  Fortunes,"  drawings 
from,  1 1 


"Francion,"  293,  398 

French,   gaiety  of  the  literature 

of  the,  33,  34 
Froissart,  43,  47,  86 
Furetiere,  398,  399,  404,  405 
Furnivall,  F.  J.,  39,  90,  102,  140, 

162,  223 

G. 

Gaedertz,  of  Berlin,  17 

"Gallathea,"  Lyly's,  139 

"  Gamelyne,"  tale  of,  204 

Gargantua  and  Pantagruel,  story 
of,  50 

Gascoigne,  "Adventures  passed 
by  Master  F.  T.,"  81 

Gawain,  a  metrical  romance  imi- 
tated from  the  French,  89 

"  Genereuse  Allemande,"  Mares- 
chal's,  282 

Gheeraedts,  16 

Gil  Bias,  24 

Godwin,  F.,  413 

"  Golden  boke  of  Marcus  Aure- 
lius,"  translated  by  Lord  Berners 
and  Sir  Thomas  North,  106, 
107 

Gomberville,  356 

Gosse,  373 

Gower,  296 

"Grand  Cyrus,"  romance  of,  364, 

383,  396 

Green  Knight,  metrical  romance 
from  the  French,  39 

Greene,  Robert,  illustrations  to 
his  work,  11,  15;  stories  of, 
translated  into  French,  27  ; 
denounces  foreign  travel,  73 
note  ;  natural  history  of,  112  ; 


426 


INDEX, 


imitator  of  Lyly,  145,  146, 
170,  171  note;  Warner  on, 
149,  150  ;  character,  birth, 
and  education,  152,  153,  154; 
travels,  74,  1 54  ;  writings, 
151,  155;  "Groats-worth  of 
Wit,"  156,  157,  158;  "Re- 
pentances," 158,  159,  162; 
marriage,  159,  160,  166,  167; 
Nash  on,  160,  161  ;  complaint 
against  plagiarists,  163  ;  abuse 
of  Shakespeare,  164,  165  ;  ill- 
ness and  death,  162,  163,  165, 
166,  167;  Ben  Jonson  on, 
166  ;  contributions  to  the  novel 
literature  of  Elizabethan  times, 
167-192;  Euphuis7n  of,  170- 
173;  "Penelope,"  174;  imi- 
tated by  Breton,  198,  199, 
201  ;  by  Lodge,  202  ;  style  of 
his  novels,  290  ;  295,  296,  300, 
418 

Greville  Fulke,  Lord  Brooke,  220, 
226,  245 

Grimestone's  translation  of  tales 
by  Goulart,  8 1 

"  Groats- worth  of  Wit,"  156,  157, 
165  note^  328 

Grobianism,  339,  344,  345,  346 

"  Grobianus,"  338,  339 

Guazzo's   "  Civile  Conversation," 
translation  of,  76 

Guevara,  86,  106 

"Gulliver's  Travels,"  50,  51 

"Guls   Horne-booke,"    Dekker's, 
28,  261,  339,    340,    341,   342, 

343 
"  Gwydonius,"  Greene's,  155 


H. 

Hall,  Joseph,  bishop  of  Norwich, 

73  note,  413 
Hampole,    Rolle   de,    story  of  a 

scholar  of  Paris,  48,  49 
Harington's  translation         of 

"  Ariosto,"  13,  ^e,  J  J,  79,  80, 

366 
Harrington's  "  Oceana,"  413 
Harrison's        "  Description        of 

Britaine,"  loi 
Hartley,   Mrs.,   as  Cleopatra,  14, 

97 

Harvey,  Gabriel,  Nash  and,  297, 
298 

Hastings,  battle  of,  results  of,  33 

Hathaway,  331 

Haughton,  331 

Havelock  the  Dane,  a  metrical 
romance,  39 

Head,  Richard,  writer  of  a  picares- 
que novel,  294,  412,  413 

Henri  IV.,  352 

Henrietta  of  England,  Duchess 
of  Orleans,  386,  387 

Henry  VIIL,  learning  of,  87 

Henslowe,  328,  331 

Hentzner  on  Elizabeth,  96 

"  Heptameron,"  Reine  de  Na- 
varre's, 398 

Herbert,  William,  Shakespeare's 
friend,  234 

"  Hercules  of  Greece,"  romance, 

349 
Heroical     novels     and    plays     in 

England  and  France,  347-397; 

reaction  against,  397-412 
Heywood,  T.,  331 
"  History  of  the  Ladye  Lucres," 


INDEX, 


427 


81  ;     drawing    from     German 

edition  of,  14,  82 
Hood,  Robin,  stories  about,  28 
Hooker,  Richard,  382 
Hurst,  Richard,  drawing  from  his 

version  of  Gombauld's  "  Endi- 

mion,"  19 
"  Hystorie  of  Hamblet,"  81 

I. 

"  Ibrahim  ou  I'illustre  Bassa,"  364 
"He  of  Guls,"  Day's,  263 
Ingelow's  "  Bentivolio  and  Ura- 

nia,"4i3  , 

"  Isle  of  Dogs,"  Nash's,  297,  298   ■ 

note 

]■  \ 

"Jack  Wilton,"  Nash's  novel  of, 
297  ;  account  of,  308-321  } 

Jessopp,  Dr.,  218  j 

Johnson,  Dr.,  151,  413 

Jones,  Inigo,  sketches  by,  14, 
100 ;  architecture  of,  100,  loi 

Jonson,  Ben,  151,  261,  270,  331, 
341  note,  348,  404,  407 

K. 

Keats,  418 

Kemp,  the  actor,  18,  287,  298 

Kenil worth,    festivities    at,    223  ; 

park  of,  241,  242 
King  Horn,  a  metrical  romance,  39 
"Knight  of  the  Swanne,"  frontis- 
piece of,  12,  61,  64 


Labe,  Louise,  "Debat  de  Folie  et 
d' Am  our,"  173 


La    CalprenMe,    356,    369,   384, 

398,  408 ;    Mme.   de    Sevigne 

on,  353 
"  Lady  of  May,"  Sidney's  masque 

of,  229,  289 
La  Fontaine,  232 
Landmann,  Dr.,  106,  123  note 
Laneham,  Robert,  account  of  the 

Kenilworth  Festivities,  85 
Languet,     Hubert,     the     French 

Huguenot  and  friend  of  Sidney, 

on  English  manners,  136,  137; 

correspondence    with     Sidney, 

221,  223,  288  ;  poem  on,  in  the 

"Arcadia,"  222 
"La  Pucelle,"  294,  350 
Layamon,  39,  40 
Lee,  392,  397 
Leicester,  Earl    of,  91,   96,   159, 

223 
"Lenten  Stuff,"  Nash's,  324,  325 
Le     Sage,    style     of,    47  ;     "  Gil 

Bias,"  294 
"  Le  Sopha,"  24 
"  Lettre  a  I'Academie,"  Fenelon's, 

229 
"Life  and  Death  of  Ned  Browne," 

Greene's,  187,  188 
Lindsey,  Earl  of,  382 
Lodge,      Thomas,     imitator      of 

Lyly»    I45»    150^    151  J    birth, 
education,  travels,  202  ;  novels, 
203;    "Rosalynde,"   144,   204, 
205,  206,  207-215;  290,  403 
Longueville,  Mme.  de,  352,  357 
"  Looking  Glasse  for  London  and 
England,"  by  Greene  and  Lodge, 
215 
Louis  XIII.,  354 


25 


428 


INDEX, 


Louis  XIV.,  352 

Loveday,  Robert,  translator  of  La 
Calprenbde's  "Cldopatre,"  369 ; 
frontispiece  of,  20,  369,  371 

Ludlow  Castle,  219,  220 

Lyly,  John,  editions  of  " Euphues," 
27  ;  denounces  foreign  travel, 
73  note  ;  writes  for  women,  104, 
105  ;  his  style,  107  ;  know- 
ledge of  plants  and  animals, 
119,  120;  the  moral  teaching 
ofLyly's  "Euphues,"  126-135; 
comedies  by,  137-139;  imita- 
tors of,  145-215;  Sidney's  style 
compared  with,  255  ;  kind  of 
novel,  290  ;  and  the  Martin 
Marprelate  Controversy,  297  ; 
an  ancestor  of  Richardson, 
317;  anticipates  Rousseau,  131, 
415 

M. 

Malory's  '' Morte  d' Arthur,"  54- 

57,  60-63 
"  Mamillia,"  Greene's,   154,  155, 

168 
Mandeville,  296 
Map,  Walter,   38  ;  his  faculty  of 

observation,  49 
Mareschal,  Antoine,  282 
"Margarite  of  America,"  Lodge's, 

202,  203 
"  Marianne,"  24 
Marlowe,  heroes  and  heroines  of, 

247,   249  ;    dies    young,    295  ; 

Nash's  criticisms  of,  299,  306, 

307 
Mary,  Queen  of  Scots,  92 
Massinger,  331 


Master  Reynard,  292 

"Matchless  Orinda,"  The,  384, 
391 

Medicis,  Marie  de,  276 

Melbancke,  imitator  of  Lyly,  145 

Melville,  Sir  James,  ambassador 
of  Mary  Queen  of  Scots  to  the 
English  court,  on  the  manners 
of  the  English,  91-95  ;  on  the 
liking  of  the  Elizabethans  for 
disguises,  239 

"  Menaphon,"  Greene's,  146,  155, 
160,  185-187 

Meres,  Francis,  198  note^  254  note, 
300 

Merim^e's  style,  305 

"Midas"  comedy  by  Lyly,  139 

Middleton,  331 

Milton's  "Comus,"  220,  221  ; 
opinion  of  Sidney's  "Arcadia," 
250,  251 

Molicre,  his  love  for  old  songs, 
232  ;  his  denunciation  of  the 
behaviour  of  gallants  at  the 
playhouse,  343,  344  ;  the 
"  Precieuses  ridicules,"  373  ; 
English  translations  of,  397  ; 
the  "Critique  de  I'Ecole  des 
Femmes,"  405 

Monmouth,  Geoffrey  of,  38,  41 

Montaigne,  43 

Montausier,  352,  388,  391 

Montchrestien,  Antoine  de,  354, 

355 
Montemayor's      "  Diane,"      '](i  ; 

translation    of,  227  ;    style    of, 

229;   imitated  by  Sidney,  236 
Montesquieu's  *'  Lettres  persanes,'* 

132 


INDEX. 


429 


More,  Sir  Thomas,  writes  in 
Latin;  the  "Utopia,"  50,  51  ; 
Erasmus'  opinion  of,  87  ;  hero 
in  Nash's  novel,  348  ;  his  "  Uto- 
pia," a  political  novel,  413 

Morris,  William,  63 

"  Morte  d'Arthur,"  Malory's,  54- 
59 ;  Ascham  on,  63 

Munday,    Anthony,    imitator    of 

Lyly,  145,  193,  331.  349 

Miirger's   "  Scenes  de    la  vie  de 

Boheme,"  150,  151 
"  Myrrour  of  Modesty,"  Greene's, 

15s,  168,  349 

N. 

Nash,  Thomas,  portrait  of,  18  ; 
his  stories  translated  into 
French,  27  ;  initiator  of  the 
pica7-esque  novel,  294;  birth, 
education,  studies,  and  travels, 
295,  296  ;  w^orks  of,  297  ;  love 
of  poetry,  299,  300  ;  style  and 
vocabulary  of,  302-307  ;  Dekker 
on,  327,  334;  begins  the  novel 
of  real  life,  347,  348;  406,412, 
418 

Navarre,  Queen  of,  86 

Newcastle,  Duchess  of,  drawing 
from  "Nature's  Pictures,"  20, 
379 ;  literary  works  of  the, 
374-381 

Newton,  24 

North,  Sir  Thomas,  106,  107 

Novels,  in  Tudor  times,  80-102; 
as  sermons,  123,  124,  127  ; 
pastoral,  235-283  ;  picaresque, 
291-346;  heroical,  348-414; 
philosophical,  414-416 


Nucius,  Nicander,  on  the  study 
of  Italian  and  French  in 
England,  87  ;  on  the  manners 
of  English  women,  91 

O. 

"  Oceana,"  Harrington's,  413 
Octavian,  romance  imitated  from 

the  French,  39 
Oliver,    Isaac,    miniature    of    Sir 

Philip    Sidney,   15,  221,    243; 

drawing  by,  69 
"Oroonoko,"  Mrs.  Behn's,  414- 

417 
"  Orlando  Furioso,"  Ariosto's,  yS, 

77,  79,  80 
Osborne,  Dorothy,  letters  to  Sir 

William      Temple,     382-384, 

387,  388 
Otway,  389  note,  397,  404 
Owen,  Miss,  373 


Padua,  John  of,  architect,  12,  loi 
"Pamela,"  Richardson's,  127,  249, 

250,  414 
"  Pandion       and      Amphigenia," 

Crowne's  heroical  novel  of,  389, 

390»  391 

"  Pandosto,"  Greene's,  155,  168, 
169,  175,  178-185 

"Parismus,"  Ford's,  193  ;  com- 
pared with  "  Romeo  and 
Juliet,"   194-198 

"  Parthenissa,"  Lord  Broghill's, 
384,  385;  Dorothy  Osborne 
on,  386,  387 

Pas,  C.  de,  drawings  by,  19,  369 

Paynter,  translations  of  tales  by, 


430 


INDEX. 


28  ;  "Palace  of  Pleasure,"  80; 

tales  by,  86 
Peek,  295 

"Penelopes  Web,"  Greene's,  155 
Penshurst,     Sidney's     birthplace, 

Ben    Jonson's    description    of, 

16  ;  drawing  of,  217 
Pepys,  Mr.,  383 
Percival,  romance   imitated  from 

the  French,  39 
Percy,  26 

"  Perimedes,"  Greene's,  155 
"Perplexed  Prince,"  413 
"  Petit  Jehan  de  Saintre,"  47 
Petrarca,  43 
Pettie,  George,  on  English  prose, 

72,  73  ;  "  Pettie  Pallacc,"  81 
Philips,     Catherine,     "  matchless 

Orinda,"  19  ;   370-373 
Philips,  Mr.,  husband  of  "match- 
less Orinda,"  373 
"Philomela,"  Greene's,   171-173 
"  Philotimus,"  Melbancke's,  148 
"Pierce  Penilesse,"  Nash's,   322- 

3H 

"Piers  Plain,"  Chettle's,  328-330 

"Pilgrimage  to  Parnassus,"  140 

Pinturicchio,  174 

Pius  II.,  83 

"  Planecomachia,"  Greene's,  155 

"  Polexandre,"  364 

Pope,  Alexander,  218,  237,  381 

Porro,  Girolamo,  engraver,  13 

Poussin,  Gaspard,  237 

"  Princesse  de  Cleves,"  24,  397 

Prose,    little    cultivated    in    Eng- 
land, 50 

Prynne,  382 

Puritans,    and    Charles    I.,    250; 


manners     of,    364,    366  ;     and 
Cromwell,  381 
Pytheas,  an  old  traveller,  33 

Q. 

Quarles,  Francis,  drawings  from 
his  "Argalus  and  Parthenia,'' 
16  ;  "Emblemes,"  264,  267 

"  Quinze  joyes  de  Mariage,"  338, 

345»  346  . 
"  Quip  for   an   upstart  Courtier," 
Greene's,    frontispiece    of,    15, 
265  ;  description  of,  189-192 

R. 

Rabelais,  43  ;  and  the  "  Utopia," 


51^52; 


2«,   2l 


297,   304. 


305,  399 

Racine,  355,  363,  395,  396,  397 

Racine,  Louis,  123 

"Railleur  ou  la  Satyrc  du  Temps," 
Mareschal's,  282 

Raleigh,  218 

Rambouillet,  Hotel  de,  352,  356, 
357,  370-373;  Mme.  de,  381 

Renaissance,  tentative,  of  the 
fourteenth  century,  43  ;  short' 
stories,  outcome  of,  47  ;  period 
of  the,  60,  68 ;  effects  of  the, 
69,  70  \  art  of  the,  79  ;  women 
at  the  time  of  the,  133;  cos- 
tumes and  furniture  in  Sidney's 
"Arcadia  "  pure,  244  ;  charac- 
teristics of,  303 

"Returne  from  Parnassus,"  140 
note^  316  note^  326 

Rich,  "  Farewell  to  militarie  pro- 
fession," 81  ;  imitator  of  Lyly, 
145  ;  works  of,  146,  147 


INDEX. 


^^^ 


Rich,  Lord,  husband  of  Sidney's 
"Stella,"  223,  227 

Richardson,  25,  26,  123,  124,  127, 
131  ;  "  Pamela"  and  "  Clarissa 
Harlowe,"  169,  202  ;  borrows 
from  Sidney,  249,  250;  270, 
317,  378,  417 

Richelieu,  352 

Rivers,  Lord,  134 

Robert  the  Devil,  drawing  of,  57 

"Robinson     Crusoe,"    123,     124, 

159 

Robinson,     Ralph,    translator    of 

More's  "  Utopia,"  50,  51 
Rogers,    William,    engraving    by, 

11,256 
"  Roland,"  poem  imitated  from  a 

French  romance,  34,  39 
"  Roman  bourgeois,"  398 
"  Roman  comique,"  398 
Romances,  end  of  chivalrous,  25  ; 

pastoral,     217-283  ;     heroical, 

reaction  against,  397,  398,411  ; 

French,  translated  and  read  in 

England,  363-384 
Ronsard,  43,  88 
"Rosalynde,"    Lodge's,  compared 

with    "  As    you   like   it,"  202- 

213 
Rousseau's    "  Emile,"    130,    131  ; 

"Social    contract,"    221;     and 

Mrs.  Behn,  414-416 
Rowley,  331 

S. 
Sainte    More,    Benoit    de,  poems 

by,  34>  35 
SaintDunstan, literature  under,  33 
Salisbury,  John  of,  38 


"Sapho  and  Phao,"  Lyly's,  138 

Sarasin,  350 

Scarron,  398,  400  note^  404 

"Scipion,"  365 

Scott,  Sir  Walter,  26,  36 

Scudery,  George  de,  278,  348,  355, 
356;  preface  to  "Ibrahim," 
358,  408,  409,  415  ;  Madeleine 
de,  "Clelie,"  20;  355-357; 
361,  384,  388,  396 

Settle's  "Empress  of  Morocco," 
20,  21,  293;  392-395 

Sevigne,  Mme.  de,  admirer  of 
heroism  in  romances  and  plays, 

352,  353,  357,  381 

Shakespeare,    interior  view    of   a 

theatre  in  time  of,  17,  18,  286  ; 

24  ;  glory   of,    26  ;  editions   of 

the  plays  of,  27  ;  43  ;  his  daily 

reading,    85  ;    outcome    of    his 

age,    88  ;    Cleopatra,    97,    99, 

156  ;     source      of     "  Twelfth 

Night,"      147;     of    "Winter's 

Tale,"  155,    178-185;  "Paris- 

mus  "  compared  with  "  Romeo 

and  Juliet,"  I94-198  ;  of  "As 

you  like  it,"   202-213;  source 

of  part  of  "  Lear,"  262  ;  source 

'        of      "  Two       Gentlemen     of 

'        Verona,"    149,    150,   236  note; 

little   known   in  France,   279  ; 

j        a    copy    of,    in     Louis    XIV.'s 

!        library,    281;    earliest  French 

criticism  on,  282  ;  humour  of, 

289  ;   beginning   of  career   of, 

299,  300;  on  music,  300,  301  ; 

interposes  himself  in  his  plays, 

I        314,  315;  and    Molicre,    343  ; 

I        style  of,  403,  404 


432 


INDEX, 


Shirley,  288 

Sidney,  Mary,  Countess  of  Pem- 
broke, portrait  of,  16;  fame 
of,  234,  235;  works  dedicated 
to,  263 

Sidney,  Sir  Philip,  217-283; 
miniature  and  portraits  of, 
221,222;  "Arcadia,"  16,  17, 
226,  229,  234-283  ;  stories  of, 
translated,  27;  birth,  219  ; 
education  and  travels,  74,  220, 
221;    love  for  "Stella,"  222- 

225  ;  "Shepheardes  Calender," 
dedicated   to,   225;  at  Wilton, 

226  ;  Marriage  and  death,  226, 
227;  literary  work  and  style, 
228-263  ;  "Apologie,"  229- 
233,  235,  254,  255,  301  ;  Du 
Bartas  on,  274  ;  known  to 
Florian,  283  ;  humour  of,  288- 
290  ;  Nash  on,  299  ;  ancestor 
of  Richardson,  317;  prose  of, 
403  ;  analysis  of  feeling  by, 
414 

"  Sir  Charles  Grandison,"  31 
Smith,  Wentworth,  331 
Smollett,  294 
Smyth's  "  Straunge  and  tragicall 

histories,"  81 
"  Sociable    letters,"    Duchess     of 

Newcastle's,  378 
"  Sopha,"  414 
Sorel,  Charles,  280,  298 
Spenser,  Edmund,  43  ;  Nash  on, 

298,  299'  300 
Steele,  Richard,  25,  381 
"Stella,"  books  dedicated  to,  227, 

228 
Sterne,  313 


"  Strange  Fortunes,"  Breton's,  199, 

200 
Suckling,  Sir  John,  388 
Surrey,  Earl  of,   74,   245  ;  Nash 

on,  300;  348 
Swift,  345,  384,  413 
Swinburne,  63 
Sylvius,  ^neas  (Piccolomini),  81 

T. 

Tacitus'  opinion   of  the  English, 

123 
Tarleton,  298 
Tasso,  43  ;  translations  in  English 

of,  76 
"Tel^maque,"  50 
Temple,   Sir  William,   382,   384, 

387,   388 
"Tendre"  country.  Map   of,    19, 

20,  359»  361 
Teniers,  317 
Tennyson,  63 
Thackeray,  124;  "Vanity  Fair," 

291 
Thorpe,  John,  architect,  12,  loi 
"  Til  Eulenspiegel,"  292 
Tintoretto,  244 
Titian,  244 

"Tom  Thumb,"  Fielding's,  412 
Tom-a-Lincoln,  stories  of,  28 
"Tom  Jones,"  26 
Topsell's  Natural  History,  14,  15, 

103,  109,  111-113  ;   115-117; 

119,  121,  125,  145,  171,  417 
Tormes,  Lazarillo  de,  292-294 
"Tragicall  Discourses,"  80,  81 
Tristan,  tales  of,  25 
"  Trojan  War,"  romance  imitated 

from  the  French,  39 


INDEX. 


433 


Turberville,  drawings  from  his 
"Booke  of  Faulconrie,**  and 
"  Noble  Art  of  Venerie,**  1 5 

Turenne,  352 

U. 

Universities,  Lyl/s  experience  o^ 

153 
D'Urfe,  247 
"  Utopia,"  More's,  50,  5 1 


Villemain's  lectures  on  the  eigh- 
teenth century,  31,  32 
Vinci,  231 
Virgil,  363,  398 
Voiture,  409 
Voltaire's  prose  tales,  47,  51 

W. 

Wace,  39 

Walpole,  Horace,  272 

Walsingham,    Sir    Francis,    220, 

226 
Warner,  imitator   of  Lyly,  145  ; 

"  Pan      his        Syrinx,**      and 

"Albion's  England,"  148,    149 
Warwick,     Guy      of^      metrical 

romance  from  the  French,  19, 

39,  67,  349-351 
Watson,  Thomas,  139,  245 
Webster,  heroines  of,  249  ;  331 
Wentworth,  331 
Whetstone,    collections  of    tales 


translated  by,  28 ;  "  Heptame- 
ron,"  81 

William  the  Silent,  226 

Wilson,  331 

Wilt,  John  0-,  drawing  by,  17 

Wireker,  Nigel,  38,  49 

Women,  their  learning  and  man- 
ners in  Tudor  times,  89,  90, 
91 ;  Ascham  and  Harrison  on, 
90,  91  ;  Caiton  on,  133,  134  ; 
English  and  Italian  compared, 
133,  134;  Rich's  stories  for, 
147  ;  excluded  from  the  stage, 
'        301,  302 

"  Wonderfull  Yeare,"  335-338 

Worde,  Wynkyn  de,  12,  64 

Wroth,    Lady   Mary,    "Urania," 
268-270;  Ben  Jonson  on,  270 

Wyatt,  Sir  Thomas,  74,  245 

Wycherlej,  404 
j  Wylc,  Nicolaos  vcm,  82 


Xenophon,  86 


Young,  on  die 

272 


Arcadia,"  271, 


Z. 

"  Zclauto,  the  Fountain  of  Fame," 
Munda/s,  146,  147,  148 

"  Zelinda,"  adaptation  of  V«- 
ture's,  408-412 

Zucchero's  portrait  of  Elizabeth, 

14^  329 


PISCES. 


UNWIN   BROTHERS,  THE^GRESHAM  PRESS,   CHILWORTH  AND  LONDON. 


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